"iH 

v^E/ 


and  frissons. 


TWENTY  MONTHS 


IN  THE 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF. 


BY 


A-  J.  H.  DUGANNE, 

*V/2L  xfk_/  *     /  *7  £..   A/^b^ 

AUTHOR  OP   "  A  HISTORY  OF  GOVERNMENTS  ;  "   "  FOOTPRINTS  OF  HEROISM  ;  "   "  WAB 
IK  EUROPE  ;"   "  A  COMPREHENSIVE  SUMMARY  OF  HISTORY  ;  "   ETC.  ETC. 


SECOND    EDITION. 


NEW  YOEK: 
J.    P.    KOBENS,    PUBLISHES, 

37    PARK   ROW. 
1865. 


TO 

R.    E.   FENTON, 

of  the  $tate  of  lew 

IN  APPRECIATION  OF  HIS 

LOYAL  LOVE  FOR  LIBERTY,  AND  HIS  CARE  FOR 
THE  SOLDIERS  OF  OUR  UNION, 

THESE     3STOTES 
ABE    RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED    BY 


1*369638 


INDEX  OF  CHAPTERS. 

CHAPTER  I.  Sea  and  Land 9 

"        II.  The  Crescent  City 19 

"        III.  Ordered  to  Lafourche 26 

"        IV.  Lafourche  Crossing 39 

44        V.  Thibodeaux  and  Terrebonne       ....  49 

VI.  Tiger ville       .        .        .     ,.  ^  -.-  t:f        .        .  58 

44        VII.  Sporting  in  a  Bayou  .   r.     >•«,;    ...  69 
44        VIII.  African  Descent     ,f  V  .  \.  * '., ,     .  {^£   . ^     76 

44        IX.  Berwick  Bay .  98 

"        X.  BrashearCity 108 

"        XI.  Rebels  in  the  Rear 11 6 

"        XII.  Sabbath  at  Lafourche 122 

44        XIH.  Bayou  Bceuff  .         .        .        .        .        .  <     .  130 

"        XIV.  Rebel  Schemes    ......  139 

44        XV.  The  Capture  of  Brashear  City  .        .        .        .146 

44        XVI.  Twenty-four  hours 154 

XVII.  Captivity 169 

"        XVIII.  A  March  to  Shreveport    ....  182 

44        XIX.  A  Bayou  Ambuscade      .                ...  191 

44        XX.  Franklin,  on  the  Teche        ....  203 

44        XXI.  Prairie  Travelling 208 

XXII.  Crossing  the  Big  Mary       ....  215 

XXIH.  Entering  Texas 220 

44        XXIV.  The  Galveston  Surrender        ...  231 
44        XXV.  Sabine  Pass   .        .        ,        .                .        .243 

44        XXVI.  Camp  Groce 251 

41        XXVII.  Sabine  Pass  again 258 

"        XXVIII.  Life  and  Death  at  Camp  Groce      .        .  269 


CHAPTER  XXIX.  Falling  Leaves 277 

"  XXX.  Exodus      .        .  !";.•                         •                 282 

"        XXXI.  Hempstead  Hospital 289 

"  XXXII.  Hospital  Physiology        .        .        .        .        301 

"  XXXIII.  Stage-Coach  Stories          .        .        .        .316 

XXXIV.  On  the  Road 323 

"  XXXV.  Camp  Ford         ..      •.'»»».        .        .        .328 

"  XXXVI.  A  Celebration        .     ...*>^<i        .        .        338 

"  XXXVII.  Bloodhounds  .        .   .   v*     *     .  .        .346 

"  XXXVIII.  Bed  River  Advices      .    .«<£*!..-.     .        358 

"  XXXIX.  Immigration  and  Population    .        .        .373 

.*'        XL.  A  Day  at  Camp  Ford 380 

"        XLI.  Operations  in  Arkansas 390 

"  XLII.  Prison  Associations    .      T»iuor£A  .I/       .        398 

"  XLIII.  Closing  Days        ..      »>r'^'"*l   •  •        .408 

**  XLIV.  "Exchanged'          '  •  \*ij :;*.<&.£ ••'\9  •      .        416 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  Writing  and  Publication  of  the  following 
work  result  from  a  promise  made  by  the  Author  to 
his  comrades  in  exile  as  prisoners-of-war,  to  imbody 
certain  interesting  occurrences  of  CAMP  and  PRISON 
life,  in  a  form  which  might  recall  mutual  experiences 
and  friendship.  A  review  of  leading  incidents  and 
affairs  in  the  DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF, — during 
1863-'4  —  becomes  necessarily  interwoven  with  the 
narrative.  Personal  statements  and  actual  obser- 
vations have  alone  furnished  material  for  the  book. 


TWENTY    MONTHS 


IN  THE 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF. 


OH  APT  EH,      I. 

SEA     AND     LAND. 

STORM  and  cold  drift,  with  clouds  of  midnight,  into 
far-away  fog-banks  of  Labrador.  Our  good  ship  skims 
over  Southern  waves,  and  leaps  before  the  "  trades," 
for  her  haven  in  wide-rolling  Mississippi.  So,  lying 
languid  on  quarter-deck,  in  golden  sunshine,  I  dreamily 
remember  long  hours  of  state-room  torture,  endured 
while  sea-sickness  crouched  upon  my  breast  like  the 
nightmare,  and  I  would  have  bartered  untold  galleons 
of  treasure,  and  fleets  of  golden-fleeced  argosies,  for  a 
single  gujp  of  greenwood  air  and  a  couch  on  terra 
firma.  Now,  thanks  be  to  smoother  seas,  and  a  balmy 
foretaste  of  Southland,  I  feel  neither  burning  nausea 
nor  bh'nding  vertigo,  and  can  look  down  upon  silver- 
winged  nautili,  and  watch  the  polychrome  scales  of 
dolphins  and  quick-flashing  fins  of  flying-fish,  with  se- 
rene self-consciousness  of  "  getting  on  nicely,"  as  our 
surgeon  saith. 

So,  then,  over  these  gleaming  waters,  from  day-spring 
till  starlight,  we  look  placidly  into  ever-receding  hori- 
zons of  cloudless  azure.  Some  of  us  while  the  hours 
with  books,  and  others  tramp  the  deck,  or  lounge  upon 


10  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

the  quarter,  or  haply  doze  through  dream-land,  from 
eight  bells  to  dinner-time,  and  "  so  to  bed,"  as  ancient 
Pepys  hath  it.  In  good  time,  at  morning  watches, 
"  Uncle  John,"  my  color-captain,  dog-ears  Les  Miser- 
ableS)  and  (not  in  good  time)  his  cabin-comrade,  Cap- 
tain T.,  blows  bugle-blasts  that  make  les  miserable^ 
of  all  of  us.  Meantime,  perhaps,  my  burly  chaplain 
spreads  his  ample  base  upon  a  corner  of  my  wolf-robe 
carpet,  and  anon  comes  Captain  McL.,  of  "  Massachu- 
setts Fourth,"  brainful  of  mathematic  lore,  to  start 
conjecture  as  to  the  latitude  of  pirate  Semmes  and  his 
ubiquitous  Alabama.  Suddenly  "  Sail  ho  !  "  startles  us 
into  animation ;  and  the  shrouds  get  presently  black 
and  blue  with  eruption  of  Sambos  and  sailors,  crowd- 
ing and  chattering,  while  bunks  and  berths  give  up 
their  sleepers  to  share  the  new  sensation.  "  Two 
things,"  said  Fanny  Osgood  : 

"  Two  things  break  the  monotony 

Of  an  Atlantic  trip  ; 
Sometimes,  alas !  we  ship  a  sea, 
And  sometimes — see  a  ship  I " 

But  our  nautical  cousin  turns  out  to  be  some  harm- 
less merchantman,  and  no  terrible  "  290  "  this  time  ; 
whereupon,  "  Uncle  John "  and  his  lieutenant,  "  the 
Buffer,"  proceed  to  light  their  meerschaums,  and  the 
captains  of  hundreds,  and  their  brave  subalterns  in 
command  of  squads  and  detachments,  and  all  gallant 
adjutants,  quartermasters,  commissaries,  and  conva- 
lescents, take  heart  of  grace,  and  descend  to  mess- 
tables,  whence  smell  of  savory  sea-meats  ariseth  aroma- 
tically. 

Long  since,  on  starjboard  quarter,  we  saw  the  crest 
of  Abaco  Island  sinking  behind  sun-tinted  wave-comb- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  11 

ings,  and  looked  back  upon  the  "  Hole  in  the  Wall," 
bathed  in  ruddy  glory,  like  painted  oriel  of  some  ocean 
cathedral.  We  are  racing  now,  at  twelve  knots,  with 
bountiful  trade-wind  stiffening  our  piles  of  canvas,  till 
the  ship  rides  on  even  keel,  and  her  topsails  are  poised 
like  sea-gulls.  Thus,  buoyantly,  till  land  looms  hazily 
over  our  bows,  and  the  Floridas  fling  out  their  sand- 
tretches  to  greet  us ;  and  so,  south-westerly,  througU' 
far-flashing  gulf  waters,  till  beaches  and  bars  lie  low 
before  us,  and  we  furl  sails,  at  night,  by  the  Pass  a 
1' Outre,  with  turbid  waves  surrounding,  and  beyond, 
through  sunset  mist,  a  glimpse  of  that  Great  River, 
which  the  old  Algonquin  tongue  called  MISI-SEPE. 

This  storm-beaten  pilot,  who  climbs  over  our  wea- 
ther-bow from  a  frail  shallop,  that  is  wind-and-wave 
harried,  like  himself,  might  tell  us  concerning  livelier 
times  than  this  around  the  river-mouths ;  might  talk  to 
us  of  fleets  that  used  to  cluster  at  these  water-gates, 
with  freights  of  "  gorgeous  merchandry  "  from  all  the 
isles  and  continents.  But  he  waits  in  vain,  this  "  an- 
cient mariner,"  for  aught  save  transports  nowadays, 
with  stores  of  shot  and  shell,  and  "  villainous  saltpetre," 
and  that  other  war-material  described  as  "rank  and 
file."  He  piloted  iron-gloved  Butler  over  yonder  bar- 
riers, some  nine  months  since,  and  can  tell  us,  if  he 
likes,  how  Farragut  ran  the  gauntlet  of  rebel  forts,  and 
gave  back  our  starry  flag  to  the  arms  of  the  Father 
of  Waters. 

But  there  is  no  call  for  pilot-yarns  anent  this  brave 
old  Viking,  Flag-officer  Farragut.  He  writes  his  auto- 
graph in  "  curve-lines  of  beauty,"  graven  by  shells  and 
cannon-balls  on  rebel  strongholds.  Stout-hearted  cham- 
pion of  wooden  walls,  with  honest,  sailor-like  scorn  for 
all  new  "  contraptions  "  of  iron-clad  rams  and  turret- 


12  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

ed  monsters!  So,  hereabouts,  marshalling  his  old- 
fashioned  mortar-fleet,  under  hard-hitting  Porter,  and 
flinging  some  hasty  armor  of  chain-cable  over  the  oaken 
sides  of  his  war-vessels,  he  pipes  all  hands  to  quarters, 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  dashes,  with  full  head 
of  steam  on,  right  into  the  teeth  of  rebel  forts,  and  gun 
boats,  and  rams,  and  fire-rafts,  and  floating  batteries 
and  all  infernal  machines  of  torpedoes  and  destructives 
and,  at  noon,  looks  back  on  forts  dismantled,  rams, 
gunboats,  and  batteries  sunk  or  captured,  and  the  old 
flag  streaming  over  ah1,  to  fly  henceforth  while  flows 
the  Mississippi. 

This  was  the  style,  nine  months  ago,  in  which  bluff 
Farragut  and  Porter  escorted  Cyclopean  Butler  to  his 
seat  of  government,  the  queenly  Crescent  City.  No 
pilots  waited  clamorously  on  that  fire-eating  feat  of 
passing  Scylla  and  Charybdis  in  the  shape  of  Castles 
Jackson  and  St.  Philip.  No  tariff  of  port-charges,  or 
rates  of  pilotage,  at  so  much  gold  per  tonnage,  could 
have  passed  the  Stars  and  Stripes  beyond  those  frown- 
ing batteries  ;  but  little  recked  Farragut  of  iron-clad 
embargo  while  his  keels  could  cleave  deep  water. 
Therefore,  flung  he  his  ships,  catapult-like,  at  the  rebel 
barbacan,  and  swept  this  Mississippi  channel,  as  Van 
Tromp,  the  Dutchman,  swept  a  British  one,  with  besom 
at  his  mast-head.  And  therefore,  also,  our  valiant 
leader,  General  Banks,  under  whose  notable  banner 
myself  and  comrades  float  this  day  at  the  Passes,  has 
found  it  not  so  difficult  to  follow  whither  single-eyed 
Butler  led  nine  months  ago.  No  hostile  batteries  now 
hold  angry  parley  with  a  Union  fleet,  and  indubitably 
it  is  pleasanter  to  hear  blank  cartridges  exploded  in 
one's  honor  than  to  breast  a  point-blank  shot  intended 
for  one's  diaphragm.  So,  I  felicitate  the  successor  of 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  13 

General  Butler,  that  case  and  shrapnel  are  no  longer 
used  in  Jackson  and  St.  Philip  guns,  to  greet  a  coming 
Major-General. 

Morning  breaks  over  wide  lagoons  and  far-extending 
marshes.  Presently,  lashed  fast  to  hoarse-puffing 
steam-tug,  our  good  ship  leaves  Pass  a  1' Outre,  and 
glides  by  muddy  channel-mouths,  till  the  Balize  ap- 
pears ;  and  thereafter  we  thump  heavily  over  shallows 
and  run  forefoot  into  sand-bars,  whence,  being  dragged 
away  bodily  by  double  tug-power,  we  at  last  slide 
safely  into  deeper  streams,  and  thence  past  wave- 
washed  beach  and  watery  waste  of  sea-grass,  and  anon 
beneath  the  fortress-guns,  and  further  up  between 
rich  banks  of  black  alluvium,  and,  still  further,  drop- 
ping anchor  under  perfumed  walls  of  orange-groves, 
beyond  which  shimmer  roofs  of  palace  mansions  lapped 
in  green  plantations.  So,  haply,  through  vernal  day 
and  night,  inbreathing  sweets  of  myrtle  leaf  and  rare 
magnolia  bloom,  till  "  English  Turn "  is  reached,  and 
we  pass  the  battle-stone  that  marks  where  Andrew 
Jackson  won  his  laurel-wreath. 

It  was  a  rare  game  of  Southern  "bluff"  that  gave 
this  river-bend  the  name  of  "  English  Turn,"  so  saith 
our  ancient  pilot.  When  Iberville,  or  his  brave  frere 
Bienville,  or  some  other  notable  vassal  of  le  Grand 
Monarque,  first  sailed  down  this  mighty  river  from  far- 
away wilds  of  northern  "  Acadie,"  it  was  only  to  meet 
a  fleet  of  British  war- vessels  laboring  up  the  channel, 
and  already  within  an  imminent  league  or  two  of  a  lit- 
tle French  encampment  just  located  near  the  site  oi 
what  is  now  New-Orleans. 

"  Turn  back  !  "  shouted  our  Gallic  explorer,  hailing 
from  his  shallop-deck. 

"  Wherefore  shall  I  turn  back  ?"  demanded  the  bluff 


14  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

English  commander,  who  had  been  the  first  European 
to  toil  from  the  Passes  up  thus  far,  and  who,  of  course, 
deemed  the  country  discovered  for  his  British  sove- 
reign. 

"Because,"  answered  the  crafty  Frenchman,  who 
had  never  been  below  this  point  at  all,  "  because  His 
Most  Christian  Majesty,  Louis  XIV.,  hath  prior  suze- 
rainty here,  by  right  of  discovery,  and  hath,  moreover, 
divers  fortresses  above  and  inland  to  defend  his  right 
and  ownership ! " 

"  Say  you  so,  Monsieur  Frenchman  ?"  quoth  the  Bri- 
ton, quite  non-plussed  by  such  bold  rejoinder ;  "  then 
must  I  needs  turn  back,  since  our  nations  be  at  peace, 
and  yours  hath  the  prior  claim  of  colony!" 

And  so,  this  simple  Englishman  turned  back,  with 
all  his  caravels,  through  the  river-channels  which  he 
had  been  the  first  to  sound,  and  our  shrewd  Iberville 
kept  his  shallop  and  his  camping-ground,  and  presently 
thereafter  founded,  just  above,  the  town  of  New-Or- 
leans. Thus,  by  a  "  bluff"  game,  were  the  British  sent 
adrift,  and  this  river-bend,  where  Gaul  and  Saxon  met, 
has  been  known  from  that  day  to  this  as  "English- 
man's" or  "English  Turn." 

And  now,  a  century  and  a  half  since  those  French 
brothers,  Iberville  and  Bienville,  planted  their  Crescent 
City  in  a  curve  of  the  Great  River,  and  only  half  a 
century  since  Andrew  Jackson  levelled  his  rifles  on 
British  lines,  and  saved  this  Crescent  City  from  spolia- 
tion, we  range  our  war-ships  and  transports,  our  squa- 
drons and  batteries,  to  fight  once  more  the  immemor 
ial  battle  that  the  free  must  ever  wage  with  despotism ' 
Sleep  calmly  in  thy  Hermitage  tomb,  thou  loyal-souled 
Old  Hickory !  Be  sure  that  the  conflict  will  still 
go  on,  as  if  thou  wert  here,  as  of  old,  to  lead  it.  ... 


DEPARTMENT  <^>F  THE   GULF.  15 

And  the  end  will  be  that  which  Eden  witnessed  when 
Lucifer  measured  his  might  with  Michael,  and  the 
Archangel's 

" griding  sword  with  discontinuous  wound 

Passed  through  him." 

For  it  is  all  in  vain,  this  rebel  strife  of  evil  against 
good ;  night  warring  sunshine ;  slavery  fronting  free- 
dom. Our  treason  that  hath  sowed  the  wind,  will  reap, 
ere  long,  the  whirlwind.  Satan  stood  awhile,  we  read, 
"  Like  Teneriffe  or  Atlas,  unremoved ;" 

but  soon  the  season  came  when  he  and  his  infernal 
host,  constrained  by  wrath  Divine,  fell  "  subjugated  " 
back,  till  at  the  last, 

"  Headlong  themselves  they  threw, 
Down  from  the  verge  of  heaven." 

In  the  glow  of  sunrise,  with  aroma  of  tropical  foliage 
ascending,  incense-like,  from  river-banks,  we  glide  quiet- 
ly past  this  slumbering  empress  city  of  the  South.  No 
longer  sitteth  she  girdled  with  fleets  of  ships  and  gild- 
ed steamers,  as  of  yore ;  her  lap  of  levees  piled  and 
overrun  with  cotton-bales,  and  sugar-hogsheads,  and 
all  immense  and  varied  stores,  tribute  of  half  a  conti- 
nent, brought  incessantly  from  distant  interiors, 
through  bays  and  bayous,  and  by  rivers  and  lakes,  and 
upon  highways  and  railroads,  and  in  wains  and  flat- 
boats,  and  on  cars  and  rafts,  to  fall  at  the  feet  of  a 
royal  commerce  which  commanded  all  the  world. 
Drunken  with  wealth,  at  length,  yet  selfish  with  greed, 
and  insensate  with  jealous  hatred  of  the  North,  her 
benefactress,  she  cast  her  lot  with  treason,  and  "  said 
unto  evil,  Be  thou  my  good  !"  Therefore,  this  peace- 
ful morn,  New-Orleans  lies  safe,  but  stricken,  on  the 
bosom  of  her  great  nursing-mother,  the  Mississippi. 


16  TWENTY  MONTHS   IN   THE 

The  flag  which  was  once  her  pride  and  her  protection, 
protects  her  still ;  but  alas  !  she  hath  now  no  pride  in 
it.  In  her  arrogance,  she  betrayed  that  banner,  and  it 
is  now  the  sign  of  her  abasement.  So  she  sits  in  her 
ashes  and  sackcloth,  for  a  space,  till  anon  these  mighty 
waters  shall  be  stirred  above  her,  and  this  river  of  her 
Sustenance  will  bring  back  to  her  bosom  the  offerings  of 
other  years — the  freights  of  white-fleeced  wealth,  the 
treasures  of  corn  and  of  honey,  whereon  she  waxed  fat 
in  her  prime,  ere  the  evil  days  fell  upon  her.  Will  she 
profit  by  the  past  ?  Will  she  take  warning  from  the 
present  ? 

Thus  musing,  pacing  with  folded  arms  the  quarter- 
deck, or  leaning  over  taffrail,  I  behold  the  panorama  of 
war-ships  and  gunboats  and  painted  river-craft,  and 
the  far-between  piles  of  bales  and  barrels  on  the  levee, 
and  the  still  city-streets,  and  the  fields  and  plantations 
above,  abandoned  and  desolate,  unrolling  gradually  be- 
fore me,  till,  at  .length,  the  mate's  shrill  treble  rouses 
me  from  reverie,  and  I  hear  the  sailors  at  the  chains, 
and  a  sudden  grinding  of  iron  that  tells  of  the  anchor- 
fall. 

"  This  is  Carrollton,"  observes  my  adjutant.  "  Are 
the  men  to  disembark,  sir  ?" 

"  I  shall  go  ashore  and  report.  We  will  await  or- 
ders before  landing  the  men." 

Dull  and  desperately  muddy  is  this  Carrollton* 
though,  I  am  told,  there  are  fine  plantations  stih1  ex- 
tant in  the  neighborhood.  A  railroad  track  of  seven 
miles  connects  the  town  with  New-Orleans.  Here  are 
camps  and  depots ;  and  above,  toward  Lake  Ponchar- 
train,  some  fortifications  of  increasing  strength.  A 
fine  highway,  called  the  Shell  Road,  intersects  the  vil- 
lage, and  we  new-comers  are  ordered  to  encamp  on 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  17 

fields  which  border  it.  Meantime  "  the  windows  of 
heaven  are  opened  "  abruptly,  and  rain  descends  like  a 
deluge.  So,  under  "  adverse  circumstances,"  as  even 
Mark  Tapley  himself  might  consider  them,  we  disem- 
bark from  transport,  and  go  into  camp  jollily. 

Now  ensue  great  strife  of  tent-pitching  in  mud- 
sloughs  and  on  overflowed  bottom-lands  ;  deep  flound- 
ering of  mules  and  commissary-wagons ;  swift  goings 
to  and  fro  of  quartermaster  and  sergeants ;  terrible 
objurgations  of  truculent  teamsters ;  curses,  not  low, 
of  company  caterers,  over  drenched  "  hard-tack  "  and 
ruined  rations,  with  no  fires  to  cook  them  withal.  But 
at  last,  night-shadows  fall ;  "  tattoo "  is  beaten,  and 
somnolizing  "  taps  "  resolves  our  motley  crowd  into 
sheltered  soldiers.  At  ten  o'clock,  no  biped  walks  out- 
side the  tents  save  rubber-blanketed  sentinels,  march- 
ing their  lonesome  rounds  through  wet  and  darkness. 

Sunrise,  or  the  hour  for  sunrise,  sees  me  stirring, 
seeking  a  more  eligible  site  for  permanent  encampment. 
Here  we  are  all  afloat,  and  likely  to  remain  so,  if  these 
pluvial  skies  continue  over  us.  Beyond  our  lines  I  see 
a  cavalry-camp,  with  horses  picketed  in  pools  and 
puddles.  At  our  rear,  the  Massachusetts  Fourth 
lies,  somewhat  fenced  from  freshet  by  the  higher 
ground  it  occupies.  Just  past  the  Shell  Road,  I  dis- 
cern a  camp  of  "  regulars,"  the  men  in  ragged  garb, 
and  worn  by  recent  hardships.  They  are  the  remnant 
of  our  gallant  border  troops,  sold  out  to  Texan  prisons 
by  a  traitor,  Twiggs,  two  years  ago,  and  just  released 
by  cartel  from  their  long  captivity.  So  much  for  Car- 
rollton  camps  seen  through  water-spouts.  Positively, 
also,  there  is  no  prospect  of  our  discovering  a  better 
camping-ground  in  all  these  flat  lands ;  so  I  must  even 


18  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

compound  with  necessity,  and  accept  matters  as  they 
are  till  the  rain  ceases. 

I  retrace  my  steps  after  long  search  along  the  Shell 
Road,  past  the  dreary  cemeteries,  with  their  gloomy 
cypresses,  heavy  and  weeping ;  past  the  cities  of  the 
dead,  with  mausolea  of  marble  and  masonry,  rising  tier 
on  tier,  wherein  are  packed  away  the  relics  of  mortality ; 
palace-houses  for  rich  dead,  high  above  swampy  soil, 
and  safe  from  diluvial  desecration  ;  trenches  and  holes 
for  poor  dead,  below  the  watery  surfaces.  As  in  life, 
so  in  death  !  Wealth  to  the  high  places — poverty  to 
the  low  ones ! 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  19 

CHAPTER     II. 

THE   CRESCENT  CITY. 

CREOLES,  contrabands,  coquettes,  coffee-distillers.   Of 

truth,  chaos  seems  come  again  in  this  mart  of  all 
marts,  the  French  market  of  New-Orleans.  I  am  el- 
bowed by  turbanned  and  bandannaed  "aunties,"  of 
ebony  aspects ;  ogled  by  coal-eyed  demoiselles  in  silk 
aprons,  and  leered  at  by  copper- colored  cuisiniers^  in 
cotton  night-caps.  I  stumble  over  multitudinous  egg- 
baskets,  skirmish  among  itinerant  orange-girls,  tangle 
myself  in  labyrinths  of  nosegay  venders. 

Thus  explorative  and  perambulant,  through  stalls 
and  over  crossings,  and  around  impassable  trottoirs, 
this  blessed  Sunday  morning  of  February,  eighteen 
hundred  and  sixty-three,  I  scan  with  wondering  eyes, 
these  human  hives,  and  mentally  ejaculate  : 

Is  this  an  American  city  ? 

Peradventure  not !  Assuredly  this  market-place  is 
of  no  narrow,  autochthonic  type,  but  polyglot,  cosmo- 
politan, and  carnival-like  with. 

"Jews, 
Turks,  Tartars,  Yankee  Doodles,  and  Hindoos." 

Or,  if  Turk  and  Hindoo  be  wanting,  and  Tartars 
represented  only  by  shrewish  fish-wives,  there  is  no 
lack,  I  aver,  of  as  motley  and  outlandish  moulds  of  hu- 
manity as  ever  wore  turban  in  Stamboul,  caftan  in 
Ispahan,  or  sugar-loaf  tile  by  the  ghauts  of  Ganges. 

And  here,  clustering,  chattering,  chaffering;  here, 
light-thoughted,  mobile,  effervescent ;  the  French  and 
demi-French,  the  Creole,  the  Octoroon,  the  Quarteroon, 


20  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

the  Mulatto,  and  the  sable-skinned,  meet  and  jostle  one 
another,  as  they  have  met  and  jostled  any  and  every 
day  during  seven  or  eight-score    years,  since   New- 
Orleans  knew  market-places.     Here  bubble  into  no- 
ticeable upper-light  the  real  undercurrents  of  Crescent 
City  alienism  from  Anglo-Saxon  characteristics.     Here 
congregate  mercurial  natures,  perennially  antagonistic 
to   all  plodding  habitudes   of  Northern   life  —  to  all 
gauge  and  plumb-line  methodism  of  existence.    Shrewd, 
doubtless,  these  people,  in  their  business  ways — verita- 
ble bourgeoisie  in  trade  instincts ;   but,  nevertheless, 
more  given    to  stock    and  cotton-gambling  than  to 
downright  labor  of  merchandising,  whereby  our  North- 
men grapple  fortune  whether  she  will  or  no.     Some 
time  in  the  future,  when  the  lessons  of  this  war  shall 
have  been  conned  over  wisely,  there  will  be  mixing  of 
Northern  phlegm  with  subtle  fluids  of  more  tropical 
mind   and  matter,   and    thereafter,    doubtless,   much 
noteworthy  vitality  and  strength  developed  in  South- 
ern trade  as  well  as  temperament.      Till  then,  New- 
Orleans,  like  her  Gallic  market,  must  remain  sui  generis. 
Diverging,  finally,  from  choked-up  passages  of  traf- 
fic, and  extricating  myself  from  coils  of  muslin-capped 
"bonnes,"  and  paper-capped  "epiciers,"  and  endless 
knots  of  Cubans,  Mexicans,  Nicaraguans,  Peruvians, 
Brazilians,  Frenchmen,  Spaniards,  Irish,  Dutch,   and 
Africans — all  jabbering,  eating,  drinking,  smoking,  and 
bargain-making — I  cross  the  street,  and  drop  presently 
into  the  silence  and  solitude  of  Jackson  Square,  with 
its  fresh  foliage  inviting  to   shade,  and  its  cool  turf 
tempting  to  repose.     And  here,  with  ancient  recollec- 
tions rising,  like  ghosts  around  me,  I  may  muse  awhile, 
unheedful  of  the  din  and  clatter  of  market-places,  un- 
mindful of  restless  crowds  shut  out  from  me  by  walls 
of  fragrant  greenery. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  21 

This  massive  monument  before  me,  with  equestrian 
Jackson  reining  his  prancing  war-horse  on  its  capitals, 
and  that  brave  legend  underneath,  which  stern  Old 
Hickory's  life  exemplified — 

"  The  Union — it  must  and  shall  be  preserved !" 

How  effigy  and  inscription  both  rebuke  the  shallow 
Treason  and  Rebellion  that  are  crouching  even  now 
beneath  this  war-steed's  hoofs !  But  yonder  French 
market  cares  less  about  Jackson  than  about  Third  Bon- 
aparte ;  possibly  ready,  this  morning,  to  toss  caps  for 
Napoleon  "  Protector,"  as  it  did,  one  year  ago,  for 
Davis  "  President." 

This  Jackson  Square  was  the  Place  d^Armes  of  the 
ancien  regime,  sacred  to  reminiscences  of  Gallic  chiv- 
alry. The  antique  cathedral  still  overlooks  it,  flanked 
by  prison  and  court-house  ;  and  the  bell  that  rang  its 
founder's  knell  still  tolls,  each  seventh-day  sunset-hour — 
so  I  have  heard — to  call  the  priest  below  to  offer  mass 
for  his  poor  soul  who  built  it.  Peace  to  his  ashes  ! 

Here,  on  river-banks  were  fought  impromptu  duels, 
melodramatically,  with  music  and  by  moonlight.  Here 
were  trod  stately  minuets,  in  hoops  and  farthingales ; 
and  here  were  danced  boleros,  with  tambour  and  ban- 
dolin.  Here  landed  martial  youths  from  France — ad- 
venturers in  quest  of  fame  or  fortune,  dreamers  of  El 
Dorados,  seekers  for  Golden  Fleeces.  The  ancient  no- 
blesse of  those  splendid  courts  which  blazed  around 
Fourteenth  and  Fifteenth  Louis,  were  wont  to  send 
their  scions  to  these  shores,  where  they  might  pass 
novitiate  of  arms,  in  wars  against  the  Indian  kings  and 
werowances.  Rude  fields  of  knight-errantry  were  here, 
in  olden  days,  when  Choctaws,  Chickasaws,  sun-wor- 
shipping Natchez,  and  other  red-skinned  rangers  of  the 


22  TWENTY  MONTHS   IN  THE 

wild,  disputed,  step  by  step,  the  white  man's  usurpa- 
tions. 

This  venerable  pile  overlooking  me — Cathedral  of 
Saint  Louis — and  this  Place  d'Armes  wherein  I  medi- 
tate— what  stories  they  might  tell  of  fetes  and  gay  as- 
semblages, and  grand  processions,  in  the  hundred  years 
gone  by  since  New-Orleans  was  sold  or  given  away  by 
France  to  Spain.  This  mighty  river,  also,  making  cres- 
cent-curve within  its  yielding  banks ;  how  might  it  speak 
of  Ponce  de  Leon,  seeking  elixir  of  life,  and  of  brave 
De  Soto,  finding  draught  of  death ;  and  of  stout  La 
Salle,  sailing  down  from  his  Fort  of  "  Broken  Heart," 
and  claiming  all  these  lands  and  lordships,  from  Niag- 
ara to  the  Mexic  Gulf,  as  realms  and  sovereignties  of 
Louis  the  Magnificent. 

Then  came  the  brothers — Iberville,  Bienville  ;  open- 
ing the  eighteenth  century  with  empire-founding  on 
this  crescent-curve,  and  wearing  out  their  lives,  and 
dying,  at  the  last,  heart-broken,  like  their  predecessors, 
in  the  strife  with  iron  destiny. 

Then  Crozat  waved  his  golden  sceptre  over  the  At- 
lantic, and  would  fain  have  mined  for  crown-jewels,  and 
strewn  them  over  thrones,  and  made  his  only  child  a 
queen  to  walk  on  them ;  poor  Crozat,  merchant-prince, 
who  dreamed  of  rearing  up  an  empire  in  the  Louisian- 
ian  wilds  that  should  be  peer  of  France  its  mother ; 
ruined  Crozat,  who  received  the  whole  broad  land  by 
royal  grant,  and  poured  his  treasures  out  like  water, 
for  its  nourishment,  till  it  brought  him  misery,  as  his 
recompense. 

Then  rose  John  Law,  the  indomitable  Law,  the  very 
necromancer  of  all  golden  sleight-of-hand  and  sudden 
fortune ;  his  glittering  image  of  Finance,  with  feet  of 
clay,  bedded  in  Mississippi  banks !  To  him  was  given 


DEPAKTMENT   OF  THE   GULF.  23 

the  ruined  Crozat's  fief  of  territory ;  to  him  a  royal 
bank  charter  ;  to  him  the  grand  monopoly  of  a  trading 
company,  with  power  to  swallow  up  and  dominate  all 
other  companies  in  France  !  Then  loomed  up  in  thef 
eyes  of  men  that  giant  bubble,  that  immense,  unreal, 
but  dazzling  will-o'-the-wisp,  the  Mississippi  Scheme, 
that  promised  to  make  every  stockholder  a  Croesus,  and 
to  enrich  the  whole  soil  of  France  with  auriferous 
alluvion  from  swamps  of  Louisiana. 

Truly,  our  Father  of  Waters  hath  had  strange 
foster-children  in  his  day  and  generation  !  There  is  no 
lack  of  romance  in  the  history  of  those  years  when 
Louisiana  was  a  protege  of  princes.  Some  time  here- 
after, when  rebellion  shall  have  been  mellowed  down  to 
the  amber  atmosphere  of  legendary  lore,  those  ancient 
chronicles  of  Mississippi  realms  will  be  delved  for  as 
classic  myths.  Then,  possibly,  the  wars  of  France,  and 
Spain,  and  Britain,  with  the  old  Algonquin  races,  for 
this  slime  of  bogs  and  bayous,  will  be  harped  upon  by 
thirtieth  century  Homers,  and  embalmed  in  ballads  that 
shall  smell  of  nineteenth  century  mummy-dust. 

Whether  this  place  d'armes  may  then  be  bulwark- 
ed in  by  cotton-burdened  levee ;  whether  the  sable 
helots  that  have  toiled  in  field  and  ground  in  mill, 
to  build  up  Crescent  City  grandeur,  shall  have  stand- 
ing-room as  men  where  now  they  cower  as  slaves ; 
whether,  at  last,  the  gold  of  freedom,  fused  in  alembic 
of  battle-fire,  and  tried  by  subtile  test  of  martyr-blood, 
shall  shimmer,  thrice-refined,  before  the  face  of  na- 
tions— may  be,  or  may  be  not,  a  Sphynx-riddle,  to  ex- 
ercise our  skill  at  present-day  divination.  But,  O  Gali- 
leo !  the  world  moves !  tThe  Mississippi  flows  to  the 
Gulf— the  Gulf-stream  cleaves  its  ocean  path;  and 
neither  stream  nor  river  can  return  again  one  single 


24  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

atom  of  the  dirt,  the  debris  of  a  thousand  banks 
washed  in  their  watery  courses.  So  flow  the  rivers 
and  the  ocean-streams  of  human  progress,  laving 
lands,  and  climes,  and  continents,  and  washing,  mining, 
wearing  off  great  banks  of  wrong,  that  nevermore  can 
be  brought  back,  while  roll  the  waves  of  time ! 

I  walk,  pensively,  from  Jackson  Square,  pausing  a 
moment  at  the  gate,  to  glance  at  gliding  figures  of  de- 
vout French  Catholics,  that  disappear  within  the  dusky 
portals  of  the  old  cathedral  opposite  —  some  maiden 
hurrying  to  early  mass ;  some  sinner  to  confession  ; 
some  feeble  grandame  hobbling  on  her  cane ;  some 
mother  sprinkling  little  ones  from  font  of  holy  water 
in  the  porch.  Along  the  pavement,  then,  beneath  the 
eaves  of  antique  houses,  I  pursue  my  walk ;  perhaps 
with  inward  marvelling  at  the  open  shops,  so  novel  to 
our  Northern  eyes  ;  boutiques  of  jewellers,  with  flash- 
ing bijouterie  piled  behind  plate-glass,  and  magazins 
of  costly  stuffs,  for  eyes  of  female  sinners  wending 
church-wise,  and  entrepots  of  fancy  wares  and  tinsel 
gewgaws ;  all  displayed  beneath  the  Sabbath  sun,  to 
tell  a  Yankee  stranger  that  he  sees  New-Orleans. 

I  ask  myself  whether  the  influx  of  Northern  soldiers 
and  society  fresh  from  healthful  restraints  and  thought- 
ful of  "  steady  habits,"  may  not  speedily  have  influence 
on  these  looser  customs  of  a  demi-foreign  city.  I  am 
answered  by  clatter  of  horse-hoofs  and  rattle  of  car- 
riage-wheels, as  a  cortege  of  gay-uniformed  staff-officers 
in  saddle,  and  of  light-robed  demi-monde  in  cabriolets, 
whirls  round  the  corner,  and  away  —  to  Shell  Road 
racing,  and,  anon,  to  Sunday  orgie  at  Lake  Pontchar 
train !  I  speculate  not  much,  therefore,  on  good  ex 
amples  brought  with  shoulder-straps. 

General  Butler,  in  the  past,  I  hear,  was  charged 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  25 

with  many  sins  by  rebels  and  their  parasites.  I  doubt, 
however,  if  that  democratic  chief  did  ever  entertain  such 
masques  of  gold-foil  folly  as  now  revolve  around  our 
two-starred  (I  had  almost  written  ill-starred)  new  com- 
mander. Such  dazzling  double  coils  of  gilt  cord  and 
red  tape !  such  cyclopaedic  volumes  of  the  art  of  war 
off  duty !  I  think  this  Gulf  Department  must  have 
store  of  "  rule  or  rum  "  in  its  future,  if  headquarters 
and  its  soldier-civic  purlieus  be  prognostic  of  events. 
I  fancy  this  Crescent  City  may,  ere  long,  be  a  paradise 
for  paymasters  who,  on  majors'  stipend,  shall  get  rich 
betimes ;  and  that  quartermasters  here,  on  captains' 
pay,  shall  win  their  Golden  Fleeces  easier  than  Jason  did. 

Meantime,  the  Sabbath  wears ;  and  St.  Charles's 
Rotunda,  prodigal  of  tinselled  and  close-buttoned  uni- 
forms, and  atmosphered  with  light  tobacco-clouds, 
looks  down  on  jaunt  of  pleasure-crowds,  and  opens 
doors  to  welcome  all  who  pay.  Hotel  and  city  —  true 
coquettes  of  fortune !  Both  beckon  and  embrace  the 
Northern  stranger,  while  both  are  rebel  at  the  heart. 

But,  thanks  to  Northern  souls  and  arms,  this  great 
Rotunda  is  no  more  a  slave-mart !  Yon  castaway 
block  of  stone,  that  once  was  pedestal  for  human 
statuary  sold  to  highest  bidders,  will  never  bear  its 
sable  shame  again.  The  padlock  and  the  chain,  the 
scourge,  and  yoke,  and  handcuff,  and  this  idol-block, 
whereunto  souls  and  bodies  of  a  wretched  race  were 
sacrificed  —  thank  heaven!  they  lie  as  rubbish  now, 
cast  out,  with  racks,  and  torture-wheels,  and  "  ques- 
!tions  "  of  the  past,  to  be  accursed  for  ever! 


26  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


OHAPT  ER     III. 

ORDERED   TO   LAFOURCHE. 

AN  orderly  dashes  up  to  my  tent,  with  missive  from 
Headquarters.  "  You  will  report  immediately  to  Gen- 
eral Emory." 

I  sally  out  at  once,  and  lose  myself  in  darkness  of 
boggy  fields  and  foot-paths  lately  submerged  by  the 
rain-deluge.  Nevertheless,  accomplishing  the  distance 
between  the  General's  quarters  and  my  own,  I  present 
myself  before  him  with  due  alacrity.  He  is  a  stern- 
looking  man,  middle-aged,  who  in  his  youth,  doubtless, 
was  handsome.  Engaged  with  an  Adjutant,  inditing 
orders  and  dispatches,  he  looks  up  as  I  enter,  nods, 
and  points  to  a  chair. 

General  Emory  has  a  good  record  of  past  service 
before  the  war.  He  directed  a  military  reconnoissance 
in  Missouri  and  California,  publishing  a  graphic  volume 
of  Notes  thereon,  some  sixteen  years  ago ;  and  his 
official  reports  to  Government  on  the  Gold  Regions, 
and  as  historian  of  the  Mexican  Boundary  Commission, 
are  of  interest  and  value  in  a  literary  point  of  view. 
So,  waiting  here  for  orders,  I  regard  the  physiognomy 
of  my  General  sympathetically,  both  as  soldier  and 
author. 

Camp  gossip  gives  General  Emory  a  reputation  for 
rigor  in  discipline — painting  him  as  a  rough  and  gruff, 
bashaw-sort  of  commander;  but  I  fail  to  notice  any 
traits  of  martinetism  in  his  serious  lineaments.  Curi- 
ously, however,  an  anecdote  told  by  onr  volunteer 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  27 

"  boys "  about  the  General  crosses  my  mind  at  this 
moment. 

They  had  been  demolishing  fences,  as  usual,  these 
brave  boys,  gathering  firewood  for  coffee-boiling ;  and, 
as  usual,  likewise,  those  innocent  sufferers,  the  "se- 
cesh  "  planters,  had  complained  to  the  General  of  their 
grievances ;  whereat  a  special  order  issued  from  head- 
quarters. It  recited  the  enormity  of  "  depredations," 
the  necessity  of  "inflexible  discipline,"  the  duty  of 
officers  and  men  to  respect  the  "  rights  of  property." 
It  concluded  by  restricting  all  wood-foraging  in  future 
to  the  "  top-rails  of  fences." 

The  boys  found  those  top-rails  very  readily,  we  may 
imagine.  In  fact,  to  quote  their  own  vernacular,  they 
"  couldn't  find  any  thing  else  but  top-rails." 

"  At  what  hour  can  your  regiment  march  to-morrow 
morning,  Colonel?"  asks  General  Emory  abruptly; 
whereat  I  collect  myself,  and  reply  pertinently : 

"  At  nine  o'clock,  sir !  " 

"  Very  well !  I  admire  your  promptness,  sir !  How 
many  do  you  report  for  duty  ?  " 

"  Seven  hundred,  sir." 

"  I  shall  send  you  where  '  Yellow  Jack '  may  have  a 
chance  at  them." 

"  We  shall  be  prepared  to  do  our  duty,  sir,  wher- 
ever we  go." 

"  I  hope  so !  I  have  no  doubt,  sir !  You  will  strike 
your  tents  and  be  ready  to  march  as  early  as  possible 
to-morrow  morning,  with  two  days'  rations,  sir."  .  .  . 
A  pause. 

"  Any  other  orders,  General  ?  " 

"  You  will  get  them  in  the  morning.  Good-night, 
sir."  (Giving  his  hand.)  "  God  bless  you  ! " 

So  saying,  the  General  dismissed  me,  and  I  returned 


28  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

to  camp  from  a  first  visit  to  headquarters,  and  a  first 
interview  with  General  Emory.  Next  morning,  in  a 
dispatch  by  him  to  General  Banks  at  New-Orleans,  my 
command  was  noticed  for  prompt  and  satisfactory  re- 
sponse to  orders. 

Great  bustle  of  preparation  that  night  among  offi- 
cers and  men  of  the  regiment ;  much  use  of  "  strange 
oaths,"  I  fear,  in  connection  with  mud,  rain,  and  dam- 
aged rations.  Morning  and  nine  o'clock  come  duly, 
but  no  orders  yet.  I  dispatch  my  Adjutant  to  report 
at  headquarters  our  readiness  to  march.  Presently 

thereafter,  Colonel  N arrives  at  camp  from  the 

city,  bringing  orders  for  immediate  inspection,  pre- 
paratory to  the  making  out  of  pay-rolls ;  a  welcome 
intimation  to  the  men  of  long-deferred  disbursements. 
We  hasten  the  ceremony,  and  get  through  famously  ; 
so  that  "  high  twelve  "  sees  us  ready  for  the  •  road  ; 
whereon,  rejoicingly,  we  bid  good-by  to  Carrollton, 
and  presently  depart,  carrying  much  of  its  saffron  soil 
away  with  us,  on  boots  and  breeches. 

Not  off  yet,  however.  Slow-dragging  wagons,  on 
miry  roads,  with  much  loading  and  unloading  of  regi- 
mental baggage,  tents,  ammunition,  and  the  like  im- 
pedimenta, protract  time  wearisomely,  till  it  is  dusk  be- 
fore our  transport  casts  off  cable  from  the  shore,  and 
steams,  with  freight  of  soldiers,  down  the  Mississippi. 
Algiers  is  our  landing-place,  there  to  reembark  on  cars 
for  interior  destination ;  and,  after  tribulation  at  depot, 
and  great  clamor  for  absent  railway  agent,  who  at 
length  appears,  sleepy  and  snappish,  we  stow  ourselves 
miserably  in  freight-boxes,  inch-deep  with  mud  and 
molasses-drippings,  and  thereafter  are  lumbered  away 
by  a  husky  locomotive  on  special  train  of  New-Orleans 
and  Opelousas  Railroad. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  29 

Algiers  is  opposite  the  Crescent  City ;  and  this  rail- 
road, having  eastern  terminus  here,  must  describe 
nearly  a  westerly,  or  perhaps  south-westerly,  course,  to 
its  other  teminus,  at  Brash  ear  City,  on  the  shore  of 
Berwick  Bay ;  now  the  outpost  of  our  military  occu- 
pation westward.  General  Weitzel,  with  about  four 
thousand  Americans,  holds  Brashear  City,  fort,  and 
camps  ;  while  opposite,  at  Berwick  City,  rebel  batter- 
ies are  planted,  with  an  unknown  force  of  Louisianians, 
Texans,  Arizonians,  who  maintain  the  Teche  and  At- 
takapas  country,  from  Berwick  Bay  to  Red  River. 
.This  Opelousas  Railroad  is  at  present  a  misnomer, 
whatever  it  may  promise  in  the  hereafter  of  Southern 
stock-jobbing.  Positive  drubbing  of  rebels,  and  much 
provost-governing  of  Franco-Yankee  parishes,  must  be 
accomplished,  before  Union  arms  and  arts  shall  reclaim 
that  garden  of  Louisiana  which  lies  between  the  lakes 
and  wealthy  Opelousas. 

Leaving  Algiers,  and  its  closely-settled  neighbor- 
hoods, we  steam  through  leagues  of  fertile  country, 
marked  by  rich  plantation-lands,  some  desolate  and 
weed-grown,  others  thriving  still,  with  goodly  surety 
for  the  future.  We  traverse  parishes  Jefferson,  St. 
Charles,  and  Lafourche,  stopping  at  stations  guarded 
by  blue-coated  infantry  from  staid  Connecticut,  whose 
bayonets  gleam  at  every  bridge  and  platform.  Here, 
between  Raceland  and  Bayou  des  Allemandes,  the 
guerrillas  attacked  a  train,  some  seven  months  since, 
killing  and  wounding  several  brave  Vermonters.  It  is 
to  foil  the  plots  of  bridge-burners  and  raiders  from  the 
rebel  parishes  above,  that  constant  vigilance  is  neces- 
sary on  this  Opelousas  Railroad  line.  Whether  such 
meagre  squads  as  we  have  passed  thus  far,  could  be  of 
much  account  against  a  rebel  foray,  may,  at  least,  be 


30  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

doubted.  Scarce  one  thousand  men,  attenuated  over 
eighty  miles  of  rail,  could  hardly  hold  their  ground 
against  a  stout  attack  from  rebels  "  to  the  manor  born," 
who  know  each  inch  of  vantage. 

Suddenly  a  halt,  and  then  a  slow  advancing  over 
bridge-timbers.  We  have  reached  our  depot  of  des- 
tination ;  and  I  look  out  of  car- window  on  broad  ex 
pmse  of  bayou-water,  hemmed  by  levee-shanks,  OL 
either  side  of  which  are  lower  grounds,  here  cultivated, 
there  a  swamp  or  thicket.  Near  the  railroad  track  are 
clumps  of  negro-huts,  the  homes  of  "  contrabands," 
whose  dark  irruption  presently  fills  up  door  and  win- 
dow-frames, and  overflows  upon  the  fields  and  levee. 
Here,  by  the  station,  are  dilapidated  warehouses,  a 
tenantless  hotel,  once  "  fashionable,"  and,  perhaps,  a 
half-score  straggling  domiciles,  fronting  the  bayou- 
bank.  A  quiet,  dull,  deserted-looking  place,  despite 
the  transient  animation  of  a  train-arrival.  But  here  is 
to  be  our  camping-ground,  and  I  hasten  to  reconnoitre. 

It  is  the  railroad  crossing  at  Bayou  Lafourche,  where, 
dumped  from  cars,  amid  litter  of  tents,  deal-boards, 
commissary  chests,  and  boxes  filled  with  ball-and-pow- 
der  stuff,  my  moiety  of  the  regiment,  called  "  Iron- 
sides," remains  to  guard  the  bridge  and  its  approaches. 
"Not  unsupported,  as  it  seems,  however ;  for  just  be- 
low the  levee-banks  are  lines  of  tents,  and  the  head- 
quarters-flag of  Colonel  H 's  regiment  flaps  yon- 
der at  an  ample  house-porch. 

Lafourche  Bayou  is  one  of  those  broad  arms  of  the 
Mississippi,  which  stretch  out  from  its  giant  breast,  be 
tween  the  Red  River  and  lower  lakes.  Effluent  neai 
the  "  ville"  of  Donaldson,  and  taking  in  its  course  three 
other  "  villes,"  Napoleon,  Labadie,  and  Thibodeaux, 
it  strikes  this  railroad-bridge  a  mile  below  the  last- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  31 

Darned  town,  and  thence  flows  south  and  easterly,  till 
it  debouches  through  Mississippi  delta  and  is  lost  in 
the  mighty  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Hard  by  its  outlet,  lies 
Barataria  Bay,  where  pirate  folk  of  old  —  La  Fitte 
and  others  "  o'  that  ilk  " — were  wont  to  rendezvous. 
Numberless  are  the  secret  coves,  and  hidden  creeks, 
and  intricate  islet  channels  which  fringe  the  gulf  shores 
near  these  bayou-mouths  ;  and,  indeed,  such  haunts  for 
water  gentry  are  patent  to  this  coast,  from  Mississippi 
Passes  to  the  Sabine  bars  that  shift  on  Texas  shallows. 
"  There  be  land-rats  and  water-rats — water-thieves  and 
land-thieves" — on  all  these  bottoms  and  lagoons,  in 
spite  of  our  blockading  squadrons;  and,  if  "contra- 
band "  tales  be  not  all  apocryphal,  there '  are  cotton- 
bales  enough  smuggled  between  Mobile  and  Galveston 
to  purchase  stores  and  ordnance  for  the  whole  rebel 
Confederacy. 

In  peace  times,  Bayou  Lafourche  was  gay  and  Galli- 
can  with  pleasure-steamers  and  watering-houses.  Then 
Thibodeaux,  the  parish  seat,  was  a  distingue  town, 
holding  its  head  up  among  rural  districts ;  and  its 
wealthy  creole  residents  and  planters  hereabouts  could 
sip  their  cafe  and  claret  like  "  grands  seigneurs,"  as 
they  aspired  to  be.  But,  "  Helas !  "  as  Monsieur  says, 
with  a  shoulder-shrug,  "  la  guerre !  on  a  change  tout 
cela!" 

Very  true,  my  dear  Planters !  This  war  has  played 
the  mischief  with  all  your  luxurious  security  ;  but  you 
have  yourselves  to  thank  for  the  change,  and  must 
needs  make  the  best  of  it.  That,  at  least,  is  the  verdict 
of  my  cook  George,  yellow  in  epidermis  and  African 
in  descent,  who  has  lately  emancipated  himself  from 
some  Lafourche  "  owner,"  and  is  quite  satisfied  with 
his  portion  of  the  war-changes. 


32  TWENTY   MONTHS  IN  THE 

Half  a  century  ago,  this  Lafourche  country  promised 
comfort  and  competence  to  a  hundred  thousand  white 
men,  who,  settling  here,  with  skill  and  toil,  might 
build  up  homes  for  free-born  families.  But  speculat, 
ing  Capital  came  also  to  this  treasury  of  cotton  and 
sugar ;  and  thereafter  the  curse  of  "  adding  field  to 
field  "  laid  grasp  upon  the  future.  So,  up  to  our  war- 
advent,  the  soil  had  been  monopolized  and  swayed  by 
Landlordism,  with  its  huge  estates  and  negro-swarms, 
while  ignoble  "  free  labor  "  yielded  acre  after  acre,  and 
foot  by  foot,  till  it  is  now  crowded  back  into  the 
swamp-bottoms,  squalid  and  ague-stricken. 

In  their  day,  the  planters  of  Lafourche  have  lived 
like  nabobs.  None  dashed  it  with  a  higher  head  or 
freer  hand  in  St.  Charles's  rotunda  or  salons  of  New- 
Orleans  than  the  cotton  or  sugar  lord  of  this  favored 
district.  None  lost  or  won  his  golden  rouleaux  at 
faro,  or  sported  his  blooded  horse-flesh  at  Metairie 
courses,  or  squandered  his  thousands  on  wine  and 
women  in  the  metropolis,  with  more  abandon  than 
your  creole  planter  from  the  rich  Lafourche,  who 
counted  his  slaves  by  hundreds,  and  his  income  by 
tens  of  thousands.  This  purple-and-fine-linen-clad  gen- 
tleman has  come  to  grief  since  rebellion  days,  and 
of  his  cash,  cotton,  and  "  contrabands  " — "  helas  !  " — 
"  the  places  that  knew  them  know  them  no  longer !  " 

Nevertheless,  there  be  notable  landmarks  left  of  the 
style  in  which  this  princely  planter  flourished.  You 
white-wooled  patriarch  of  ebon  hue,  whose  rheumy 
eyes  are  watching  me,  might  tell  brave  tales  of  "  Ole 
Mauss'  Charles  "  and  "  Young  Mauss'  Henry  "  in  the 
olden  time.  And  yonder  white-walled  mansion  down 
the  bayou,  bosomed  in  a  grove  of  dark-green  figs  and 
myrtles,  and  bright-gleaming  oranges,  and  clambered 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  33 

over  by  a  maze  of  hyacinths  and  sweet  geraniums,  and 
hedged  with  white  japonicas,  magnolia-clumps,  and 
trellised  jonquils,  kissing  a  dried-up  fountain ;  if  its 
walls  could  speak — this  lonely  house — what  secrets  of 
luxurious  Southern  life  might  I  be  master  of! 

But  the  old  drivelling  slave,  and  the  palatial  dwell- 
ing which  his  life-long  labor  helped  to  build,  are  alike 
abandoned  by  their  rebel  owners.  The  maelstrom  of 
secession — dread  agency  of  Nemesis  for  myriad  crimes 
and  follies  in  the  past  —  has  gulfed  the  barons  of 
this  haughty  Southland,  and  their  serfs  alone  remain 
to  point  out  mouldering  roof-trees  of  the  ruined 
"  masters." 

I  leap  into  saddle  and  gallop  about  the  grounds  of 
this  "  Johnson  place."  The  flowers  are  choking  under 
grasp  of  rank  weeds.  The  rare  fruit  withers  on  un- 
pruned  limbs.  The  garden-walks  are  tangled,  and  a 
garden-roller,  in  my  path,  is  overrun  with  wild  honey- 
suckles. Grass  grows  stirrup-high  on  the  once  beauti- 
ful lawn. 

Out  over  the  fields,  with  slackened  bridle,  I  pursue 
the  plantation-road,  passing  through  miles  of  rotting 
cane,  decadence  of  ungathered  crops.  I  reach  the 
negro-quarter,  with  its  compact  hamlet,  and  pass  the 
mill  and  sugar-houses,  with  their  ponderous  machinery, 
vats,  and  bagasse  troughs.  It  is  all  bagasse  now ;  all 
refuse  and  rubbish  of  the  past. 

An  aged  black  is  sunning  himself  at  a  hut-door,  and 
rises,  with  a  polite  bow,  as  I  draw  rein  before  him. 

"  What  is  your  name,  Uncle  ?  "  (All  old  negro  men 
are  "  uncles  "  in  this  country.) 

"Antoine,  sah." 

"  Do  you  belong  to  this  place,  Antoine  ?  " 

"Yes,  sah— I  stops  bar!  me  an'  de  ole  Aunty." 


34  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

"  Did  you  live  long  with  Mr.  Johnson  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mauss' — shore  I  did  !  I  lib'd  har  with  Mauss' 
Johnsing — dat  was  'fore  he  run'd  away,  sah ;  'fore  de 
missis  run'd  away,  sah ! " 

"  How  old  are  you,  Uncle  ?  " 

"  Dunno  zackly,  mauss."  I'ze  a  berry  old  nigger  — 
shore !  " 

"  How  many  of  your  people  are  living  here  ?  " 

"  'Clare  I  dunno  zackly,  sah !  Dar's  a  heap  o'  ole 
darkies  t'oder  side  de  cane,  sah ! " 

I  ride  on,  past  the  sheds  and  out-buildings.  Doors 
are  swinging  from  jambs ;  roofs  are  falling  in.  Through 
broken  window  of  the  sugar-house  I  see  huge  vats,  half 
filled  with  molasses — thousand s  of  gallons — soured  and 
crusted  with  dust.  A  plough,  nearly  buried  in  sand, 
is  climbed  over  by  tough  grass,  like  the  garden-roller 
which  I  noticed  near  the  "  great  house."  All  things 
smell  of  neglect. 

Another  gray-wooled  negro  approaches.  He  holds 
his  hat  in  hand,  discovering  a  wide  forehead,  strongly 
marked  features,  intelligent  eyes.  I  inquire  his  name, 
and  learn  that  he  is  known  as  "  Uncle  Phil ;"  that  he  is 
a  plantation-preacher;  that  he  was  formerly  a  slave 
and  overseer's  assistant  on  the  Johnson  estate. 

"  You  must  know  all  about  the  place  then,  Uncle 
Phil?" 

"Yes,  sah!"  (Uncle  Phil  speaks  good  English, 
with  but  little  twang  of  negro  patois.)  "I've  lived  in 
this  Lafourche  country  sixty  years,  sah.  It  was  a 
grand  country  for  rich  white  people,  sah  !  " 

"  You  were  an  old  servant  of  Colonel  Johnson,  I 
suppose." 

"I  was  one  of  his  SLAVES,  sah!"  rejoined  Uncle 
Phil  in  an  impressive  tone,  as  he  looked  up  at  me. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  85 

"  Was  the  Colonel  a  good  master,  Uncle  Phil  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  slavery  let  him  be,  sah  !  "  answered  the 
old  negro  in  his  self-possessed  way,  that  seemed  to  as- 
sert a  conscious  but  suppressed  power  in  the  speaker. 
I  began  to  get  interested  in  my  colloquist,  and,  beck- 
oning a  woolly-pated  urchin  from  one  of  the  cabin- 
doors,  threw  the  bridle  of  my  horse  to  him,  while  I 
dismounted  beside  Uncle  Phil. 

"  You  are  so  well  acquainted  with  the  plantation," 
I  said,  "  it  would  gratify  me  to  walk  about  with  you." 

Uncle  Phil  touched  his  weather-stained  palmetto  hat, 
and  led  the  way  through  stacks  of  out-houses,  from 
saw-mill  to  sugar-mill,  displaying  to  my  interested 
gaze  the  troughs,  the  coolers,  vacuum-pans,  and  mighty 
iron  kettles,  the  reservoir  of  syrup,  piles  of  hogsheads, 
damp  with  mould,  the  broken  cane-wagons,  the  shat- 
tered "  carrier  "  that  once  bore  its  saccharine  freight 
from  field  to  engine-house. 

"You  understand  this  business  well,  Uncle  Phil," 
I  remarked,  while  listening  to  the  negro's  brief  and 
lucid  explanations  of  the  complicated  sugar-working 
process. 

"  I  was  sugar-maker  here  for  many  a  year,  sah,"  an- 
swered Uncle  Phil. 

"  You  could  carry  on  a  sugar-plantation  yourself," 
I  suggested. 

"  I  think  so,"  responded  the  old  man,  quickly ;  "  at 
least,  so  far  as  sugar-making  goes ;  I  understand  ihat^ 
sah." 

I  looked  about  me  over  wildernesses  of  weeds  and 
parasitic  plants  that  were  invading  the  Johnson  estate 
strangling  its  former  life  of  bloom  and  fruitage.    I  sur- 
veyed   the    lonesome    negro-quarters,    the    dismantled 
enginery,  the  fest-decaying  sugar-mill.     I  recalled  the 


36  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

fact,  that  thousands  of  such  broad  plantations,  with 
their  wealth  of  soil  and  means  of  facile  labor,  were, 
like  this  one,  given  over  to  destruction ;  while  the  toil- 
ing people  who  had  made  them  Edens  of  productive- 
ness, were  cast  out  on  the  highways  or  compelled,  like 
Uncle  Phil,  to  eke  out  bare  existence  on  the  scanty 
promise  of  a  stunted  corn-crop. 

I  hazarded  another  conjecture :  that  Uncle  Phil  might 
manage  a  hundred  of  his  fellow-laborers  without  using 
whip  or  stocks ;  and  that  he  could,  peradventure,  make 
as  much  sugar  with  them  as  his  quondam  owner  did 
in  "  flush  times  "  of  Lafourche  parish. 

The  negro  turned,  and  steadily  met  my  glance.  "  I 
think,  sah,"  he  replied,  "  that  a  hundred  MEN  might 
do  as  much  as  a  hundred  SLAVES  !  " 

"  You  suppose,  then,  that  emancipated  slaves  could 
carry  on  the  labors  of  these  plantations  now  lying 
idle?" 

"  Give  us  the  chance,  sah  !  "  cried  Uncle  Phil,  with 
sudden  sparkle  of  eye  and  lifting  of  voice.  "  Give  us 
the  opportunity  to  do  what  we  can  do,  and  do  it  for 
ourselves,  sah,  and  you'll  know  that  free  work  is  better 
than  chained  work  !  All  we  ask,  sah — all  I  want  for 
my  people,  sah — is  to  be  rid  for  ever  of— MASTEKISM  !  " 

It  is  impossible  to  convey  by  words  the  singular  ex- 
pression, the  peculiar  meaning,  mingling  scorn  and 
hatred,  which  that  one  word,  "  masterism,"  seemed  to 
bear,  as  uttered  by  this  negro  sugar-maker.  For  my- 
self, I  realized  that  a  volume  of  abolition  speeches  might 
have  less  of  pith  and  power. 

And  here  I  opportunely  recollect  that  Lafourche 
parish  is  one  of  the  "  excepted  M  districts  of  Louisiana, 
wherein  "  slavery "  is  still  extant  and  recognized  by 
Presidential  proclamation;  so  that  Uncle  Phil  would 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  37 

still  be  slave  of  Colonel  Johnson,  should  that  gentle 
refugee  return  and  make  his  peace  with  our  forgiving 
Government. 

Emerging  from  the  ruined  sugar-mill,  I  pass  the 
negro-huts  again.  A  score  of  feeble  and  decrepit 
blacks  look  out  at  door  and  window.  They  regard  me 
timidly,  but  smile  and  nod  at  Uncle  Phil  with  obvious 
deference.  He  is  their  preacher,  their  leader,  their  ad- 
vocate, poor  souls !  who  have  no  advocate  or  friend 
beside,  in  the  great  world  of  war  and  diplomacy. 

And  here,  in  spite  of  plausible  plea  of  conciliating 
planter  interests  —  spite  of  kid-glove  fingering  of  slav- 
ery-issues, whereby  the  Louisiana  of  General  Butler  is 
to  be  made  the  Louisiana  of  General  Banks  —  I  think 
I  see  in  Uncle  Phil,  and  such  as  he,  the  real  sub-strata 
of  an  honest  governmental  policy.  I  discern  the  "juste 
milieu"  whereby  these  great  estates,  abandoned  by 
their  traitor  owners,  might  be  saved  at  once  from 
greedy  camp-followers  and  from  perjured  agents  of 
their  late  proprietors.  I  imagine  each  broad  planta- 
tion, with  its  vast  machinery,  confided  to  the  hands 
which  earned  and  paid  for  all  the  wide  improvements. 
I  fancy  a  "  sugar-maker  "  like  Uncle  Phil  still  watch- 
ing over  every  reservoir,  and — backed  by  wise  authori- 
ty, assisted  by  selected  men  of  science  and  of  hon- 
esty— jyoducing  wealth  for  Government — large  profits 
to  the  power  that  breaks  his  chain  and  gives  him  man- 
hood in  exchange  for  slavery.  I  see  a  grand  militia, 
armed  and  drilled  upon  these  green  savannas ;  no  long- 
er chattel-souls,  but  conscious  of  their  strength  and 
numbers,  marching  to  the  cane  and  cotton-fields  by  tap 
of  drum,  and  guarding  bridge  or  railway  line  with 
ready  rifles,  and  with  surer  knowledge  of  the  ground 
than  ever  can  be  gained  by  Northern  regiments. 


38  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

But,  this  is  day-dreaming !  Who  will  lift  up  these 
Uncle  Phils  to  independent  toil  while  speculators  hover, 
like  so  many  vultures,  in  our  army's  rear  ?  Who  will 
drill  these  negroes  into  semi-military  laborers  on  their 
old  plantations,  and  make  of  them  an  "  army  of  occupa- 
tion "  for  the  soil  which  white  men  shall  redeem  from 
Treason's  despotism  ?  I  must  suppress  these  fancies, 
lest  I  be  accused  of  treason  likewise — treason  against 
the  policy  of  "  conciliating  planters." 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  39 


CHAPTER      IV. 

LAFOURCHE    CROSSING. 

CAMPED  at  Lafourche  Crossing,  I  begin  to  look  about 

me.  Colonel  H ,  of  Twenty-third  Connecticut 

Volunteers,  being  senior  field-officer  of  the  troops 
guarding  this  line  of  railway,  acts  as  Brigadier-Gen- 
eral of  the  two  regiments.  He  occupies  a  snug  man- 
sion, deserted  by  absconding  rebel  owners,  and  the 
tents  of  a  couple  of  his  companies  are  pitched  around 
him.  The  Colonel  is  an  active,  efficient  commander, 
comprehending  his  position  and  the  people  hereabouts, 
and  placing  as  much  faith  in  "  professed  "  Unionism  as 
the  actions  of  those  professing  entitle  them  to  com- 
mand. He  has  a  lively  contempt — wherein  I  confess  to 
share  very  heartily — for  provost-marshals  who  hunt 
runaway  negroes,  for  camp-followers  who  lease  planta- 
tions, and  for  quartermasters  who  set  up  sutler-tents. 

This  New-Orleans  and  Opelousas  Railroad — con- 
ducted under  governmental  auspices,  superintended  by 
a  Federal  field-officer,  inspected  at  divers  points  by 
captains  and  lieutenants,  who  demand  your  passports, 
and  watched  by  pickets  and  sentinels,  who  "  present 
arms  "  at  the  bridge-crossings — is  an  expensive  public 
luxury  in  these  times  of  non-production  in  freights  and 
of  free  travel  in  soldier-clothes.  Its  eighty  miles  of 
well-constructed  track  connect  Algiers  with  all  the 
back  plantations,  and  in  peaceful  days  they  drained  a 
country  rich  in  generous  harvests,  and  mobile  with  busy 
traffic.  Thibodeauxville,  the  shire-town  of  Lafourche, 


40  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

was  growing  visibly  before  the  war ;  and  even  this  dull 
"Crossing"  was  a  famous  summering-place,  where 
steamboats,  plying  from  Baton  Rouge  and  New-Or- 
leans, were  wont  to  fly  their  gay  bunting,  and  where 
sporting  gentry  came  to  eat  buffalo-fish  and  drink  Bur- 
gundy, while  alligators  splashed  the  mud  beneath  their 
window-sills. 

Two  miles  upon  the  road  to  Thibodeaux,  I  ride  past 
broken  gateways,  despoiled  shrubberies,  and  disman- 
tled outbuildings  of  an  estate  that  was  once  a  sump- 
tuous residence,  owned  by  the  traitor,  General  Bragg. 
Both  northerly  and  southerly  from  my  camp  are  many 
noble  country-seats  falling  to  decay ;  their  owners  ex- 
iles in  their  native  land,  wielding  the  rebel's  sword,  as 
generals,  colonels,  majors,  in  confederate  armies,  while 
their  families  crave  shelter  in  some  district  safer  than 
their  own  from  "  Yankee  vandalism."  Misled  and  mis- 
erable people  !  their  folly  bears  with  it  a  fitting  retribu- 
tion. Betraying  the  government  which  protected  them, 
they  dared  not  trust  their  families  behind;  and  so, 
abandoning  both  home  and  country,  they  invited 
strangers  to  their  hearths  and  plunderers  to  their  pos- 
sessions. Yet,  notably,  I  have  more  respect  for  these 
self-exiled  zealots  in  a  wretched  cause  than  for  a  class 
of  time-servers  who,  by  the  easy  mouthing  of  a  "  loyal 
oath,"  have  kept  their  fine  plantations  unmolested; 
more  politic  knaves,  who,  when  secession  flourished, 
were  foremost  of  the  herd  that  swore  by  "  Southern 
rights,"  and  vowed  eternal  hatred  to  the  "tyrant 
North."  Heartily  do  I  despise,  as  I  do  most  religiously 
distrust,  such  double  traitors,  who  so  loosely  wear  their 
sheep-skin  of  allegiance  that  the  wolf  snarls  out  be- 
neath it  as  they  crouch.  But  all  these  "  oath-bound  " 
patriots  are  to  be  "conciliated"  by  the  kid-gloved 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  41 

scheme  of  mild  manipulation  now  in  favor  with  OUT 
Gulf  authorities.  These  "  Union  men  "  are  ah1  to  be 
"  attracted  "  back  by  sugar-gilt  upon  the  pill  of  Fede- 
ral government.  Unworthy  policy,  and  doomed  to  be 
a  failure !  The  rebel  viper  must  be  grasped  in  iron 
gauntlet,  and  its  sting  extracted  by  a  resolute  hand,  or 
burnt  out,  if  it  be  necessary,  by  fiery  caustic.  These 
renegades,  who  buy  impunity  by  an  oath,  are  either 
true  or  false  to  the  Union.  If  they  swear  truly,  they  cer- 
tainly require  no  new  "  conciliation,"  since  the  govern- 
ment is  of  their  choice.  If  they  be  not  the  loyal  men 
they  seem,  but  traitors  who  have  sworn  a  lie,  let  them 
abide  by  it ;  and  if  they  will  not,  let  them  suffer  for 
their  double  treachery. 

My  quarters  at  Lafourche  are  in  the  old  hotel ;  a 
ventilated  building,  whereof  no  door  hath  complement 
of  hinges,  and  no  window-frame  can  boast  a  tally  of  its 
panes.  But  there  are  separate  rooms — some  dozen ; 
and  in  each  the  wood-work  of  a  once  pretentious  bed- 
stead ;  so  that  myself  and  staff  have  shelter  and  retire- 
ment. 

Rearward  of  this  palatial  pile,  the  camp  of  my 
"  command  "  extends  triangularly  upon  a  plot  of  mea- 
dow, skirted  by  a  little  "  collect "  of  the  bayou  oozings, 
just  below  the  railroad  grade.  Beside  this  sluggish 
sluice  the  "boys"  have  ranged  their  tents,  built  cook- 
houses, and  reared  a  flag-staff,  whence  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  wave  gallantly.  Intrusive  water-moccasins,  and 
other  serpents  of  the  Southern  slime,  are  rather  trou- 
blesome to  bed  and  board  as  yet ;  but  soldiers  soon  get 
snake-skin  belts  thereby,  and  speculate  already  on 
prospective  boots  of  alligator-hide,  contingent  on  the 
visit  of  some  "  cayman  "  from  the  neighboring  swamps. 

Our  surgeon,  careful  and  discreet,  selects  betimes  his 


42  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

regimental  hospital,  locating  it  beyond  the  camp-lines, 
in  that  fine  old  mansion  of  the  Johnson  family.  This 
Colonel  Johnson,  I  am  told,  is  nephew  of  the  famous 
"Richard  M.,"  who  "  killed  Tecurnseh,"  as  the  ballad 
says.  He  is  in  service  of  the  rebel  government,  and 
upon  his  "  place  "  are  only  left  those  few  poor  negroes 
— driftwood,  like  old  "Uncle  Phil" — who  have  sur- 
vived their  master's  awful  shipwreck. 

Other  human  fragments  lie  in  limits  of  Lafourche, 
however — debris  of  the  old-time  "masterism;"  scat- 
tered or  huddled  here  about  the  "  Crossing."  Their 
rude  huts  near  the  track,  that  shelter  scores  of  women, 
children,  and  disabled  men,  are  likewise  marked,  like 
shops  of  pawnbrokers,  with  dumb  mementoes  of  a 
ruined  "  upper  class."  Old  damask-covered  sofas,  bro- 
catelle  chairs,  and  rosewood  bedsteads,  tarnished  now 
and  broken ;  cracked  vases,  fragments  of  rich  glass 
and  China  wares ;  torn  linens  and  bedraggled  silks, 
that  once  adorned  the  mistresses,  now  mocking  misery 
in  the  hovels  of  their  slaves.  All  shreds  like  these,  of 
former  luxury,  may  now  be  scanned  and  pondered  over 
in  this  negro  camp  beside  the  railroad  crossing.  Men, 
women,  urchins,  huts,  rags,  wretchedness — the  dust- 
heap  of  a  worn-out  "  caste  system  "  that  never  more 
will  rise  to  rule  again. 

Orders  arrive  from  General  Weitzel  to  detail  a  com- 
pany of  my  command  for  "  provost- duty  "  in  the  parish 
of  Lafourche  ;  and  so  I  send  to  Thibodeaux  that  "  free 
companion,"  Captain  II ,  with  valiant  Dutch  Lieu- 
tenant K ,  to  quarter  on  plantations  in  true  provost 

fashion.  Sundry  scruples  have  I,  nevertheless;  be- 
cause this  brave  gar^on  H bears  reputation  of  truc- 
ulent "  abolitionism,"  and  I  fear  some  outburst  of  his 
liberty-loving  spirit  may  clash  with  shrewd  "  concilia- 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  43 

tion  "  plans  of  our  chief  General.  But  here  a  skeptical 
staff-officer  wags  his  head  and  smiles  at  my  anxiety. 

"  Colonel,"  he  says,  "  you  think  our  free-tongued 
Captain  may  be  too  outspoken  for  these  slave-lords  on 
plantations." 

"  I  apprehend  his  Northern  principles  and  bold  opin- 
ions on  the  slave-question  may  cause  some  rash  ex- 
plosion." 

"My  dear  Colonel,"  quoth  the  staff-officer,  laying 
hand  upon  my  arm,  "just  wait  a  bit.  Before  the 
week  runs  out,  our  abolition  Captain  will  be  hand-in- 
glove  with  slave-owners,  and  as  tender-toned  upon  the 
'  divine  institution '  as  the  smuggest  doughface  of  a 
Northern  pulpit." 

"  You  cannot  mean  that  the  Captain  will  abandon 
his  avowed  hatred  of  slavery  !  " 

"  Wait,  Colonel,  and  let  time  answer.  If  a  provost- 
captain  can  be  made  from  an  abolitionist,  I'll  wager 
that  a  tolerable  pro-slavery  man  can  be  made  from  the 
provost-captain." 

And  it  turns  out  so.  My  courteous  Captain  pres- 
ently- takes  unto  himself  pleasant  relationships  with 
much-abused  planters,  and  with  widowed  proprietress- 
es of  elegant  mansions  and  sugar  estates,  and  with 
ladies  whose  husbands  and  brothers  are  rebel  generals, 
colonels,  and  the  like  ;  whereafter  all  awkward  North- 
ern prejudices  concerning  Southern  institutions  are 
gracefully  waived  in  deference  to  that  "  good  society  " 
into  which  our  provost- captain  is  post-prandially  in- 
ducted, and  the  quondam  "  abolitionist "  becomes 
votre  tres  humble  serviteur  to  all  the  Creole  barons  and 
baronesses  who  choose  to  smile  on  him. 

I  do  not  overdraw  the  sketch,  O  freedom-loving 
friends  of  mine  who  read  these  pages!  The  entire 


44  TWENTY   MONTHS  IN  THE 

system  of  provost-marshal  rule,  with  its  detailed  regi- 
ments and  companies,  its  plantation-guards,  its  rebel 
passports  and  protections,  not  to  speak  of  vile  abuses, 
covering  tyranny,  and  theft,  and  frauds,  and  traitorous 
collusions,  has  been  fruitful  of  the  worst  results  wher- 
ever exercised  in  unrestricted  scope.  And  of  what  re- 
strictive power  are  written,  sometimes  verbal,  orders, 
over  officers  whose  very  office  must  be  more  or  less  an 
irresponsible  one,  based  as  it  is  on  military  absolutism, 
and  liable  to  be  wielded  for  the  personal  ends  of  him 
who  holds  its  brief  but  potent  tenure  of  authority  ? 

Here  comes  to  me  from  Thibodeaux — from  provost- 
marshal  of  the  parish,  ranking  first  lieutenant  of  some 
regiment,  wherefrom  he  is  "  detailed  on  special  duty  " — 
here  comes,  I  say,  an  order  to  deliver  up  a  negro  man 
or  woman,  servant  of  a  captain  in  my  regiment.  The 
bearer  of  this  order  is  a  Creole  planter,  very  red  in 
face  and  fierce  of  speech,  who  vows  that  he  will  have 
his  slave  by  provost-marshal  dictate  and  authority, 
whether  I  will  or  not.  Behind  him  march  two  blue- 
clad  soldiers,  with  the  number  of  my  regiment  upon 
their  caps,  but  acting  now  as  provost-guards,  and  sent 
by  one  of  my  own  captains,  acting  now  as  provost-offi- 
cer, to  "  enforce  "  this  order  for  delivery  of  a  negro 
to  the  person  who  has  claimed  him  as  a  slave. 

"I  vill  have  my  slave,"  says  the  Creole  planter. 
"  General  Banks  makes  one  grand  arrangement  —  one 
Labor  Contract  —  wiz  ze  plantaire  !  I  sail  keep  my 
slaves,  and  ze  yankee  officier  must  return  zem  to  my- 
self— when  zey  run  avay ;  when  zey  hide  in  ze  federal  '• 
camp !  I  comprehend  it  ver'  well !  I  vill  have  my 
garcon — my  slave,  Colonel !  " 

"Very  well,"  I  reply  to  this  excited  gentleman, 
"  what  have  I  to  do  with  all  this  ?  " 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  45 

"  Ah !  truly !  you  sail  have  me  search  of  your  camp  ! 
I  sail  find  my  slave  and  take  him.  Come  wiz  me, 
guard !  " 

"  Not  so  fast,  sir.  I  cannot  allow  civilians  to  pass 
within  my  camp-lines." 

"  Eh,  well !  Zen  you  sail  command  ze  soldier  to 
bring  out  my  runaway." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  am  prohibited  by  law  of  Congress 
from  returning  any  fugitive  slave  to  servitude." 

"  Zen  you  sail  permit  ze  provost-guard  to  go  in  ze 
camp,  to  seize  ze  mechant,  ze  culprit." 

"  I  am  forbidden  by  General  Orders  to  allow  any 
violence  to  be  used  in  reclaiming  a  runaway." 

"  But,  begar !  how  sail  I  get  back  my  slave,  Col- 
onel ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  am  forbidden  by  Special  Orders  to  oppose 
any  obstacle  to  the  return  of  a  runaway.  If  you  can 
induce  your  servant  to  go  with  you,  of  his  own  will,  I 
shall  interpose  no  objection.  But  there. must  be  no 
violence  used,  you  understand." 

"  Milles  tonnerres  !  Colonel !  you  vill  tell  me  one. — 
two — three — several  things  !  How  can  I  see  my  garc.on 
if  I  sail  not  enter  ze  camp  ?  How  sail  I  induce  him  to 
go  back  wizout  ze  handcuff?  How  sail  I  make  arresta- 
tion  wizout  ze  guard  to  put  zis  maudit,  zis  rascal,  in  ze 
stocks  ?  How  sail  I  make  him  not  run  away  any  more 
wizout  ze  flogging  ?  Now  you  tell  me,  Colonel,  no 
violence !  Vhat  you  mean,  sare,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  domestic  affairs, 
sir.  My  duty  is  to  guard  this  railroad,  and  to  meet  the 
enemy  as  a  soldier." 

"  But,  mon  dieu,  Colonel,  I  sail  regard  zis  Labor 
Contract  wiz  ze  General  Banks  like  one  grand  swindle 


46  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN   THE 

of  ze  plantaire  !  I  sail  make  complaint !  I  sail  pro- 
test— vhat  you  call  repudiate — zis  Labor  Contract !  " 

My  irascible  Creole  takes  his  leave,  and  the  provost- 
guards  go  back  to  their  captain.  After  a  few  days, 
I  receive  notice  that  a  complaint  has  been  made  at 
headquarters.  General  Weitzel  writes  to  Colonel 

H ,  and  Colonel  H writes  to  Colonel  N" , 

and  Colonel  1ST writes  to  me ;  requiring  explana- 
tion and  defence.  I  transmit,  thereupon,  a  communica- 
tion to  General  Weitzel,  wherein  I  assume  my  position 
to  be  that  of  a  soldier  and  not  a  hunter  of  runaway 
negroes.  I  express  my  readiness  to  obey  all  lawful 
authority,  but  claim  that  a  special  act  of  Congress 
makes  it  a  penal  offence  for  any  military  officer  to  re- 
turn a  fugitive  slave  to  bondage.  I  adduce,  likewise, 
certain  orders  of  General  Bo  wen,  Provost-Marshal 
General,  prohibiting  the  use  of  violence  in  the  arrest 
of  alleged  runaways.  Finally,  I  ask  for  General 
Weitzel's  opinion  regarding  my  position,  and  soon  af- 
ter receive  an  indorsement  of  it,  under  that  gallant 
General's  order. 

But  provost-authority,  as  exercised  by  venal  or  pre- 
sumptuous military  subordinates,  is  continually  as- 
serting new  prerogatives.  Here,  one  morning,  comes 
a  planter  from  Thibodeaux,  and  with  him  a  man  in 
civilian's  clothes,  to  identify  a  laborer  in  the  quarter- 
master's department,  who  is  claimed  as  a  runaway  plant- 
ation-slave. The  negro  walks  into  the  highway,  feeling 
quite  secure,  because  he  sees  no  provost-guard,  with 
musket,  ready  to  arrest  him ;  but  suddenly  the  pre- 
tended citizen  throws  off  his  coat,  and  shows  a  jacket, 
marked  with  sergeant's  stripes.  Then  pulling  out  a 
pair  of  handcuffs,  with  his  left  hand,  while  his  right 
displays  a  pistol  levelled  at  the  negro's  head,  he  bids 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  47 

the  shivering  "  contraband "  to  jump  into  a  wagon 
standing  near.  I  hear  a  yelling  from  the  negro-camp, 
and  in  another  moment,  Colonel  H ,  of  Twenty- 
third  Connecticut,  makes  hasty  rush  across  the  bridge, 
leaps  down  upon  the  provost-sergeant,  and  with  voice 
and  arm  uplifted,  flings  him  from  his  nearly-captured 
prize.  A  chorus  of  exulting  exclamations  breaks  from 
sable  throats,  and  is  echoed  by  the  shouts  of  sympa- 
thizing soldiers  on  the  bridge ;  while  Monsieur  Planter 
and  his  provost-guard  "  decoy  "  retreat  to  their  close 
wagon,  into  which  they  hoped  to  drag  the  hapless 
"  fugitive." 

These  visits  of  planters,  provost-soldiers,  or  negro- 
hunting  scouts,  are  of  daily  occurrence,  and  their  strat- 
egies to  snare  the  runaways  are  numerous.     Occasion- 
ally a  more  high-handed  measure  is  attempted.     The 
levee  breaks   away,  near  Thibodeaux,  and  a  call   for 
laborers   to   stop  the  dangerous  "  crevasse,"  is  made 
upon  this  post.     Our  quartermasters,  at  the  "  crossing  " 
are  invoked,  to  send  their  able-bodied  "  hands  "  with- 
out delay ;  so  I  direct  a  detail  to  be  forwarded  at  once 
to   the  "  crevasse."     Meantime,   the  parish  road   be- 
comes impassable,  and  planters  rush  about,  complaining 
that  their  lands  will  all  be  devastated.     At  length  a 
force  of  several  hundred   negroes  grapples  with   the 
danger,  and  it  speedily  disappears.     In  four-and-twen- 
ty  hours,  the  levee-banks  are  sound  again.     But  it  is 
now  the  turn  of  quartermasters  to  complain.     Their 
laborers   are   missing, -and   reports   arrive   concerning 
squads  of  blacks,  inveigled,  kidnapped,  and  detained  by 
planters,  under  provost-marshal's  orders;  while  more 
squads  are  sent  to  jail,  accused  of  anti-labor-contract 
contumacy.     Here  is  another  coil  to  disentangle.     Pro- 
vost-authority  backs    itself   on   General    Banks,   and 


48  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

points  to  orders  based  on  his  agreement  with  the 
planters  ;  whereby  every  negro  found  upon  plantations 
after  date  is  held  to  have  indorsed  his  owner's  contract, 
and  is  henceforth  bound  to  labor  for  a  certain  pittance, 
and  forbidden  to  leave,  on  penalty  of  re-delivery  to  his 
master.  So,  then,  these  crafty  provost-men  and  plant- 
ers— taking  swift  advantage  of  the  presence  of  their 
quondam  slaves,  repairing  a  "  crevasse," — have  pounced 
upon  the  helpless  blacks,  and  driven  them  within  the 
boundary  of  "  plantations."  And  now  the  cry  of 
quartermasters  for  laborers,  and  the  wail  of  "  contra- 
bands "  thus  kidnapped,  unite  their  comment  on  the 
Labor  Policy  of  General  Banks  j  a  policy  which,  though 
it  be  well  intended,  neither  satisfies  the  planter  nor 
protects  the  negro  ;  which  practically  enforces  thraldom 
worse  than  former  slavery;  which  robs  our  army  and 
our  government  of  thousands  who  might  win  and  keep 
the  rebel  country  by  their  own  stout  hands  ;  and  which 
can  never  end  in  aught  but  profit  to  the  speculating 
hordes  that  swarm  about  this  Gulf  Department,  like 
voracious  sharks  upon  the  track  of  fever-ships. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  49 


CHAPTER,      V. 

THIBODEAUX   AND   TERREBONNE. 

I  BIDE  along  the  banked-up  margin  of  Lafourche 
Bayou,  by  acres  of  abandoned  plantations,  through 
miles  and  leagues  of  ruined  corn,  and  cane,  and  cotton 
fields.  Some  of  the  lands  are  still  "  squatted  "  over 
by  ebony  representatives  of  squandered  wealth  ;  gaunt 
effigies  of  wasted  substance ;  gnarled  limbs  and  roots 
of  the  great  bohan-upas  that  has  brooded  over  all  this 
clime,  and  bred  beneath  it  slimy  coils  of  treason  and 
rebellion.  They  are  left,  these  victims  of  the  Past  and 
the  Present.  God  help  them !  What  shall  be  their 
Future  ? 

Last  night  a  pair  of  worn-out  "  man-machines  "  crept 
near  our  camp-fires — male  and  female  octogenarians, 
waifs  on  the  sable  sea  that  beats  incessantly  upon  the 
shores  of  Freedom.  The  man,  with  mumbling  jaws, 
rehearsed  his  story.  How  he  saw  the  sunshine  first  in 
Maryland ;  was  "  sold  into  "  Kentucky ;  sent  to  field-work 
in  his  fifteenth  year ;  hoed  corn  till  thirty ;  meantime 
fathering  some  seven  children ;  sold  again  to  Louisiana, 
with  his  "  wife" — their  children  being  dispersed  through 
all  the  South  ;  then  "  worked  "  on  cotton  fields ;  there- 
after in  the  "  cane,"  till  fifty  summers  more  rolled  by  ; 
and  then — a  Northern  bugle  sounded  through  the  old 
slave's  soul,  and  he  became  a  "  contraband,"  or  "  fugi- 
tive," or  "  vagrant,"  as  our  General's  "  labor-contract " 
might  describe  him.  Twice  seized,  and  twice  remanded 


50  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN   THE 

to  his  "  owner ;"  twice  flogged,  and  once  more  flying 
from  his  bondage — at  length,  last  night,  he  fell  within 
•these  lines.  I  do  not  think  that  provost-men  can  take 
this  couple  without  "  violence." 

These  "  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor  "  are 
better  than  statistics.  I  want  no  stronger  witness  of 
the  bald  injustice  of  all  servile  labor  than  the  contrast 
of  a  master  dwelling  in  his  palace  and  the  servant  in 
his  hut ;  one  reaping  riches  faster  than  his  lavish  hand 
can  squander  it;  the  other  drudging  hopelessly  from 
birth  to  death,  with  all  his  toil  appropriated  by  an 
"  owner,"  and  with  even  the  offspring  of  his  loins  "  sold 
off"  to  swell  that  owner's  hoards.  This  wretched 
slave  of  eighty  winters — this  withered  pair  who  passed 
the  hours  of  night  in  bathing  mutual  lash-wounds  by 
the  light  of  camp-fires — have  little  notion  of  political 
economy,  and  never  heard  of  Adam  Smith,  or  Malthus, 
or  Ricardo  ;  but  the  "  male  "  can  tell  you  that,  for  fifty 
years,  he  never  was  presented  with  a  solitary  sixpence 
by  his  wealthy  master,  nor  received  a  single  suit  of 
clothing,  summer  or  winter,  for  his  toiling  body.  His 
master  understood  "  economy,"  and  had  read  De  Bow, 
perhaps  ;  and  so  he  made  the  slave's  "  affections  "  pay 
per  centage,  like  his  limbs,  exacting,  as  the  condition  of 
the  husband  being  allowed  to  see  his  wife,  who  lived 
upon  a  near  plantation,  that  the  wife  should  clothe  her 
husband ;  which  she  did  for  half  a  century.  How  ad- 
mirably were  the  interests  of  neighboring  planters  here 
combined!  The  owner  of  the  umale"  reduced  his 
chattel's  yearly  "  cost  "  to  just  the  "  bacon  rations  ;" 
while  the  master  of  the  "female"  counted  all  the 
children  of  his  slave  as  so  much  thrift ;  and  "  thrift  is 
blessing,  when  men  steal  it  not,"  said  Shylock  to  Bas- 
sanio. 


DEPARTMENT  OF   THE   GULF.  51 

But  now  these  old  slaves  look  after  me,  from  camp, 
with  faith  that  I  can  keep  them  in  their  new  estate  of 
freedom  !  Their  rheumy  eyes  already  burn  with  the 
strange  light  of  emancipation.  O  Liberty  !  incompre- 
hensible, divine  abstraction !  I  think  it  might  lift  even 
these  worn-out  "  men-machines  "  high  up  among  hu- 
nanities. 

I  draw  bridle  in  Thibodeaux,  at  headquarters  of  my 
politic  captain  of  the  provost-guard.  No  simple  tent 
of  line-officer,  fronting  his  company-street,  but  a  gen- 
tleman's costly  mansion,  shaded  by  fragrant  trees,  with 
lawn  and  garden  shrubbery,  and  "  grounds,"  and  out- 
buildings, and  stables  *  for  the  "  stud,"  which  must  be 
kept  at  call  for  provost-captain's  service.  Dismount- 
ing, stirrup  held  and  bridle  tended  by  a  brace  of  unc- 
tuous "  contrabands,"  I  enter  the  spacious  hall,  and 
thence  upon  a  drawing-room,  where  lolls  one  mild  lieu- 
tenant on  silk-cushioned  sofa,  and  another  thrums 
piano-forte,  while  their  orderly  mixes  claret-punch 
in  cut-glass  goblets.  The  captain  is  on  duty  at  the 
Court-house,  where  he  occupies  the  Judge's  bench, 
dispensing  summary  law  on  helpless  sons  of  Ham,  but 
listening  graciously  to  "  special  pleading "  of  soft- 
spoken  dowagers  who  "  claim  protection  for  their  pro- 
perty." Meantime,  the  "  provost-guard,"  a  company 
of  brave  men,  who  enlisted  for  the  battle-field,  are 
quartered  here  and  there  upon  plantations,  to  awe  the 
blacks  and  hold  them  closely  to  the  "  labor-contract ;" 
to  protect  the  "  planter's  interests,"  by  hunting  strag- 
gling recusants,  and  generally  to  act  as  "  overseers  "  in 
pay  of  Federal  treasury.  How  speedily  the  soldier 
sinks  into  the  satellite  ;  how  soon  the  guard  becomes  a 
jailer  ;  how  certainly  the  life  of  ease  and  indolence  de- 


62  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

moralizes  and  undisciplines  the  man,  let  army-lists  de- 
termine 

Thibodeaux  has  its  nunnery  and  schools  for  Catholic 
young  ladies,  and  its  sable-cassocked  priests,  like  any 
"  ville "  in  France.  I  meet  a  singular  procession  near 
the  church — a  cortege  of  some  twenty  mounted  men, 
escorting  solemnly  an  open  wagon,  on  which  is  borne  a 
little  coffin,  decked  with  flowers.  They  go  to  bury 
some  petite  enfant  in  oven-tomb ;  and  as  I  turn  off, 
by  the  road  to  Terrebonne,  I  pass  the  cemetery — a 
weed-grown  space,  with  brickwork  graves,  like  tables, 
built  above  ground.  Here  are  multiplied,  in  layers  and 
shelves,  those  mouldering  masonry  inclosures  that  con- 
tain the  dust  of  generations.  The  soil  of  Lower  Louis- 
iana is  no  soil  for  catacombs.  We  walk  above  no  caves 
and  find  no  grottoes  in  these  bottom-lands ;  we  mine 
no  tertiary  veins  of  lead  or  iron,  quarry  not  for  coal  or 
marble — all  the  riches  here  is  mud,  alluvion  of  lakes 
and  bayous  fed  by  fertilizing  Mississippi — the  Nile  of 
all  our  South-west  Egypt,  which  was  a  house  of  bond- 
age, likewise,  for  its  laborers. 

Headquarters  of  the  One  Hundred  and  Seventy- 
sixth  are  at  Terrebonne  Railroad  crossing,  which  I 
reach  by  horseback  ride  of  four  miles  from  Lafourche 
ma  Thibodeaux.  The  distance  by  the  track  is  three 
miles,  through  a  belt  of  woods  and  swamps,  allowing 

laterally  not  even  a  bridle-path.  Here  Colonel  N" 

has  pitched,  picturesquely,  his  camp,  beside  the  railway 
grade,  its  rear  abutting  on  the  shrubberied  grounds  of 
an  extensive  sugar-grower  of  the  past.  I  find  the 
Colonel  in  his  tent,  with  Adjutant,  engaged  in  ponder- 
ous correspondence  on  that  never-ending  theme,  the 
rights  of  planters.  Here,  in  the  regimental  letter-book, 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  53 

already  have  accumulated  teeming  folios  full  of  ques 
tions  for  the  future,  between  capital  and  labor,  bond 
and  free.  I  have  more  faith  in  war-guns  than  in  law 
canons  for  the  ultimate  adjudication  of  these  knotty 
problems. 

Colonel  1ST and  myself  mount  horses  for  a  trot  be- 
low the  camp,  upon  the  road  to  Houma.  Three  miles 
from  the  railroad  is  a  large  plantation,  once  inhabited 
by  Major  Potts,  a  brother  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Potts,  01 
controversial  fame.  The  Major,  it  is  said,  possessed 
the  finest  library  in  the  State,  outside  of  New-Orleans, 
and  left  it,  with  his  broad  domain — house,  furniture, 
crops,  stock,  and  "  people  " — all  to  be  the  spoil  of 
squatters,  provost-marshals,  soldiers,  and  camp-follow- 
ers. The  negroes  tell  us  how  the  books  were  scat- 
tered, mutilated,  and  consumed  as  fuel,  long  ago.  A 
solitary  volume  of  Hyperion — blue  and  gold — was 

found  by  Colonel  N in  a  deserted  chamber — the 

last  sad  relic  of  that  splendid  private  library. 

A  "company  canal,"  now  nearly  dry  and  choked 
with  weeds,  extends  from  Thibodeaux  to  Bayous  Black 
and  Blue,  and  once  sufficed  as  channel  for  the  country 
trade  in  Terrebonne  ;  large  flat-boats,  piled  with  cotton- 
bales  and  sugar-hogsheads,  penetrating  what  seem  now 
but  narrow  ditches  by  the  highway.  The  town  of 
Houma,  twelve  miles  from  the  railroad,  was  quite  an 
entrepot  of  inland  commerce;  and  the  bayou  banks 
and  lake-shores  of  this  parish  were,  at  one  time,  lively 
with  the  transit  of  deep-laden  wains.  This  whole  allu- 
vial country  is  a  planter's  paradise.  No  richer  lauds 
are  found  upon  the  continent  than  are  embraced  within 
the  water-belts  of  Louisiana, 

The  town  of  Houma — once  a  seat  of  aborigines,  who 


64:  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

left  their  name  to  it — was  noted,  some  months  since,  as 
the  theatre  of  a  cowardly  massacre,  by  ambushed  rebels, 
of  some  wounded  Union  soldiers,  who  were  being 
transported  in  a  wagon  through  the  district.  The  vic- 
tims were  thrown  into  a  trench  dug  in  the  public 
street  of  Houma.  But  iron-handed  General  Butler 
speedily  avenged  them.  He  sent  the  gallant  Colonel 
Keith,  with  men  and  guns,  to  cleanse  this  nest  of  trai- 
tors. Keith  compelled  the  Houma  citizens  to  disinter 
our  murdered  soldiers,  and  re-bury  them  in  coffins  and  in 
graves  made  by  their  own  reluctant  hands.  He  then 
took  measures  of  retaliation  ;  burned  the  houses,  su- 
gar-mills, crops,  and  machinery  of  rebel  sympathizers  ; 
hunted  the  guerrillas  through  woods  and  swamps,  and 
levelled  Houma  jail  to  dust  with  battering-rams.  Then, 
hoisting  our  "  old  flag  "  upon  the  court-house,  he  de- 
manded that  the  planters  thereabout  should  pay  the 
charges  of  his  expedition ;  then  drove  away  some  hun- 
dred head  of  confiscated  cattle,  and  left  Houma  to  re- 
cover at  her  leisure.  So  much  for  Butler's  notable 
lex  talionis. 

We  ride  back,  past  decaying  messuages,  alight  at 
camp,  to  drink  a  dish  of  coflee,  and  then,  remounting, 
take  the  road  to  Thibodeaux,  where  the  Colonel  and 
myself  propose  to  pass  the  evening  at  our  provost- 
captain's  quarters  ;  for  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  books 
in  that  snug  homestead  of  an  exiled  rebel,  and  desired 
to  spend  a  leisure  hour  with  them.  Arrived  and  seat- 
ed, while  our  steeds  are  duly  cared  for,  we  get  pres- 
ently engrossed  by  teeming  portefeuilles  of  engraving?, 
crayon  sketches,  and  etudes,  that  lie  upon  the  par 
lor-table.  Afterwards  the  library  key  is  brought,  and 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  55 

we  are  ushered  to  a  pleasant  side-room,  lined  with 
book-cases  well  stored  with  goodly  volumes. 

Here  is  another  revelation  of  secession  folly  and 
"  midsummer  madness."  This  is  the  private  library  of 
Squire  Bush,  a  lawyer  and  a  prominent  States 
rights  man  of  Lafourche.  Surrounded  here  by  every 
comfort,  blessed  with  wealth,  and  more  than  commonly 
endowed  with  intellect;  a  wife  and  blooming  family 
around  his  board  ;  this  man  became  a  leader  of  the 
wretched  horde  who  clamored  for  disunion.  I  appre- 
hend ambition  was  his  failing — that  sin  whereby  the 
angels  fell.  I  can  recall  his  name,  as  noted  somewhat 
in  Know-Nothing  annals;  and  doubt  not  that  the 
"  bubble  reputation  "  lured  on  this  husband,  sire,  and 
citizen,  to  stake  his  all  upon  the  dice  of  revolution.  So 
this  night  a  Northern  stranger  moralizes  amid  the 
ruins  of  his  household  treasures,  and  the  Yankee 
provost-soldiers  stretch  their  legs  upon  his  hearth- 
stone, unmindful  of  the  lares  and  penates  that 
should  guard  it.  These  shelves  of  tomes  in  divers 
tongues  ;  these  desks,  and  maps,  and  globes,  and  study- 
lamps  ;  these  red-taped  rolls  of  manuscript,  and  pigeon- 
holes of  pamphlets,  journal  clippings,  club  reports, 
and  half-writ  speeches ;  all  the  opima  spolia  of  a  busy 
mental  life,  are  left  at  last  to  alien  scrutiny — abandoned 
to  the  forfeiture  that  tracks  their  owner's  hopes  and 
happiness  hereafter. 

I  grow  melancholy  over  these  relics  of  a  peaceful 
past ;  I  wax  indignant  with  the  thought  that  all  this 
ruin  was  a  suicidal  act.  What  grievance  drove  the 
Jawyer  of  Lafourche  to  treason  and  rebellion  ?  What 
tyranny  assailed  his  quiet  home,  that  he  should  cast  its 
comforts  to  the  winds  of  civil  strife?  No  chattel 


56  TWENTY   MONTHS  IN  THE 

could  escape  from  all  these  labyrinths  of  swamps  and 
bayous ;  no  abolitionist  might  penetrate  these  par- 
ishes, remote  from  Northern  borders.  Why,  then, 
must  Lawyer  Bush  play  Catiline  to  his  country  ? 

I  solve  this  problem  at  a  later  period  of  my  South- 
ern residence.  I  learn  some  time  hereafter  not  to  base 
this  rebel  movement  on  a  negro  issue  only.  I  gam, 
with  new  experiences,  an  insight  to  the  real  cause  that 
underlies  all  seeming  motives  of  the  South  in  measur- 
ing her  strength  against  a  government  upheld  by  equal 
rights. 

Meanwhile,  here  sit  we,  hostile  strangers  from  the 
North,  amidst  the  dusty  lumber  of  a  Southern  home. 
The  family  portraits  rest  against  the  wall,  backs  turned 
upon  us. 

I  handle  many  a  duplicate  of  favorite  authors  in  my 
own  home  library.  Here  stand,  in  line,  battalia  of 
books,  which  show  the  classic  taste  of  their  collector. 
The  British  Poets  muster,  rank  on  rank,  some  ninety 
strong ;  the  British  Essayists  beneath ;  and  here  are 
Dickens,  Irving,  Cooper,  Bulwer,  Thackeray ;  with 
hundreds,  rank  and  file,  of  literary  yeomen ;  and  brave 
historians — Bancroft,  Alison,  Guizot,  Thiers,  Lamar- 
tine,  Macaulay,  Prescott,  Motley,  Michelet,  and  costly 
books  of  plates ;  and  Lamennais,  Chateaubriand, 
Rochefoucault ;  with  seventy  volumes  of  Voltaire,  and 
twenty  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  and  .  .  . 

I  am  alone  among  the  living-dead,  oblivious  of  the 
dead-alive,  who  feebly,  in  this  age  of  feebleness,  essay 
to  wrestle  with  great  truths,  in  cabinet  or  camp,  kid- 
gloved  and  shod  with  silk.  I  fain  would  linger  in  the 
company  of  stalwart  souls  that  smile  out  of  these 
book-cases.  I  think  I  could  lock  door  and  curtain 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  67 

casement,  sitting  down  amid  these  ancient  friends  of 
mine,  forgetful  of  all  outside  drums  and  bugle-calls. 
How  wiser  had  it  been  for  Lawyer  Bush,  if  he  had 
barred  his  gates  and  ears  against  the  treason  that  en- 
compassed him,  and  remained  "  at  home,"  amid  his 
books  and  family,  unmeddling  with  Rebellion's  "  peril- 
ous stuff."  But  he  would  not ;  and  so  it  is  that 
strangers  tread  his  halls,  while  he  must  be  an  exile 
from  them.  So  it  is  that  I,  like  him,  quit  home  and 
quiet  study  for  the  camp  and  hostile  action.  The  sin 
and  folly  of  this  rebel,  and  of  such  as  he,  have  sun- 
dered households  over  all  our  land. 

This  lawyer's  reference-books,  dust-covered,  fill  capa- 
cious wall-shelves,  and  are  piled  on  floor  and  furniture 
in  an  office  which  he  occupied  on  Thibodeaux  main 
street.  In  all  their  multiplex  authorities,  all  their  pre- 
cedents, commentaries,  and  annotations,  he  found,  it 
seems,  not  one  small  text  to  warn  him  of  the  penalties 
of  treason.  Peradventure,  this  man  had  been  a  better 
patriot  with  less  of  law  and  learning.  Assuredly,  he 
might  be  a  happier  husband  and  father  to-day,  in  this 
peaceful  mansion  of  his,  with  beloved  faces  round  the 
hearth-stone,  and  his  old  flag  of  stars  waving  above 
the  roof-tree* 


68  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAP  T  E  R,     VI. 

TIGTERVLLLE. 

BRIGADIEE-GENEEAL  WEITZEL  stops  one  day  at  the 

Crossing,  whispers  into  the  ear  of  Colonel  H that 

rebels  are  reported  to  be  moving  on  the  upper  waters 
of  Lafourche  Bayou,  and  enjoins  upon  him  to  be  vigi- 
lant here  about  the  railroad  ;  whereat  great  preparation 
on  our  part  ensues.  We  double  guard,  set  extra  pick- 
ets, station  lookouts  for  the  night.  Some  weeks  ago, 
we  underwent  a  midnight  panic,  when  nocturnal  wan- 
derers in  the  shape  of  runaway  horses  "  drove  our  pick- 
ets in,M  and  divers  rounds  of  cartridges  were  burnt,  to 
imminent  peril  of  all  "  stragglers."  I  have  my  own 
doubts  now  concerning  the  propinquity  of  rebels,  but 
nevertheless  take  all  precautions,  and  await  develop- 
ments, on  my  soldier's  pallet,  lapped  in  dreams  of  home 
and  happiness. 

"  An  hour  passed  on — the  Turk  awoke  ! "  It  is  no 
marvel  that  he  did  so,  if  half  a  dozen  voices  rang  in  his 
ears,  at  once,  as  they  do  in  mine;  announcing  foemen 
"  thick  as  leaves  in  Vallambrosa. "  I  buckle  on  my 
sword  and  sally  out,  to  find  the  camp  aroused  and 
under  arms.  Our  quartermaster,  very  deaf,  is  listening 
nervously  for  a  charge  of  rebel  cavalry,  while  he  supplies 
ammunition  from  one  door  and  distributes  whiskey  ra- 
tions at  another.  Shots  rapidly  follow  one  another  from 
surrounding  darkness,  and  gallant  subalterns  cry, 
Steady,  boys,  steady,"  and  white-faced  fellows  circulate 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  59 

reports  of  "  killed,  wounded,  and  missing. "  Meantime, 
I  light  a  cigar,  and  despatch  "  George  "  on  horseback 
to  Thibodeaux,  to  learn  if  provost-guard  be  still  extant, 
and  another  messenger  to  Terrebonne,  by  rail  and  hand- 
car, to  report  the  "  alarm "  to  Colonel  N .  I 

get  my  men  in  line  upon  the  bridge  and  levee,  ex- 
change a  joke  or  two  with  others  skeptical  of  danger 
as  myself,  and  so  the  night  wears  on,  and  morning 
conies,  and  every  body,  glum  and  weary,  goes  to  bed 
or  breakfast,  conscious  of  a  quite  unnecessary  "  scare," 

Such  incidents,  diversified  by  out-post  visiting,  oc- 
casional scouting  on  the  bayou  roads,  impromptu  slave- 
hunts,  with  a  week  or  two  of  court-martials,  whereat  I 
sit  in  solemn  dignity  as  president,  to  try  some  tipsy 
sentinel  or  poaching  picket — such  is  service  at  the 
Crossing,  melancholy  and  monotonous. 

At  length,  an  order  for  removal.  Guard-duty  is  to 
be  divided  on  the  road ;  my  regiment  to  form  a  line  of 
posts  from  Terrebonne  to  the  front,  at  Brashear  City ; 
the  Twenty-third  Connecticut  to  hold  all  stations  from 
Lafourche  to  Algiers  terminus.  I  go  to  Tigerville. 

To  Tigerville :  a  quiet,  slumberous  place,  at  conflu- 
ence of  two  sluggish  bayous.  Near  the  station-house, 
by  railroad  track,  the  section  superintendent  —  for- 
merly a  steamboat  captain — pleased  himself  some  time 
before  the  war,  in  modelling  a  dwelling  after  pattern 
of  the  river-craft  he  used  to  navigate.  A  stack  of 
buildings  longitudinal,  with  bows,  and  stern,  and  mid- 
ships like  a  steamer  ;  with  masts  and  flag-staffs,  tower- 
ing over  cabin-parlor,  caboose-kitchen,  and  forecastle- 
cow-house  ;  snug,  unique,  and  pretty  as  a  picture. 
Here  the  bluff  proprietor  drank  his  Bourbon  like  a 
lord  ;  a  staunch  upholder  of  the  Union,  save  when,  now 


60  TWENTY   MONTHS  IN  THE 

and  then,  "  inspiring,  bold  John  Barleycorn  "  put  words 
into  his  mouth  which  sounded  strangely  like  secession 
sympathy.  Some  said  this  worthy  skipper's  steam- 
boat-house not  only  owned  two  flag-staffs,  but  possessed 
two  flags  to  hoist  upon  them,  as  occasion  might  demand. 
However  this  might  be,  no  bunting  flew  from  them 
but  Stars  and  Stripes  while  I  abode  in  Tigerville. 

I  pitched  my  little  camp  upon  a  narrow  cross-road 
leading  from  the  railway  to  a  freight-house  on  the 
bayou  margin.  Near  this,  the  barred-up  shutters  of  a 
single-storied,  many-windowed  building  seemed  to  in- 
dicate the  shell  of  what  was  once  a  warehouse  ;  but 
it  proved  to  be  a  billiard-room,  with  table,  balls,  cues, 
chalk,  and  tally-board  intact  and  tempting ;  whereupon 
my  juniors  quickly  fixed  their  quarters  in  proximity, 
and  an  ivory  tiraillade  soon  scared  the  rats  away. 

A  wooden  cot,  or  cabin  of  the  "  poor- white  "  style 
with  room  for  bed  and  board,  hard  by  the  camp,  be- 
came headquarters,  where  I  stretched  a  mattress,  and 
arranged  mosquito-net.  "  George  "  ensconced  himself 
in  kitchen  out-building,  "  John  "  made  his  dormitory  in 
a  closet  at  the  rear  of  mine,  and  so  my  new  establish- 
ment was  complete. 

The  town  of  Tigerville  was  once,  I  learn,  a  busy  set- 
tlement, with  prosperous  traffic  gliding  over  its  bayous, 
and  radiating  from  the  iron  track  which  passes  through 
its  meadows.  Two  rustic  bridges  span  the  water- 
courses and  the  village  straggling  on  each  side  of 
them.  Left  of  the  railroad,  and  between  it  and  the 
swamps,  the  bayous  and  plantations  lie.  A  signboard 
on  the  Tigerville  Hotel  —  now  tenanted  by  sable 
squatters — indicates  the  public  road  to  Houma,  east- 
ward, and  to  Brashear  City,  in  a  westerly  direction. 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  61 

Upon  the  right  hand  of  the  railway,  there  are  open 
fields  hemmed  in  by  grand  old  woods,  through  which, 
with  many  windings,  the  road  to  Chickahoula,  Terre- 
bonne,  and  Thibodeaux  conducts.  From  Thibodeaux, 
by  the  Chickahoula  highway,  or  by  a  more  circuit- 
ous route,  via  Terrebonne  and  Houma  road,  all  travel 
from  Lafourche  once  found  its  way  to  Tigerville, 
and  so  to  Berwick  Bay  and  the  Attakapas  country. 
The  railroad  superseded  bayou  roads,  of  course,  for 
purposes  of  transportation,  to  New-Orleans  and  the 
bay ;  but  these  old  highways,  following  the  water-lines, 
with  swamps,  and  forests,  and  broad  belts  of  rich  plan- 
tations as  their  background,  are  indispensable  for  in- 
terpenetration  of  the  fertile  parishes  which  stretch  to 
the  Mississippi  "  coast,"  and  thence  trend  downward 
toward  its  seaward  passes. 

A  stone's  throw  from  my  quarters,  rises  an  Indian 
mound ;  one  of  the  "  high-places "  where  aborigines 
worshipped  or  made  mausolea  for  their  dead.  It  tow- 
ers above  the  roofs  of  manor-houses,  and  looks  down 
upon  the  negro-hovels  like  a  mountain  in  the  dead  level 
of  surrounding  marsh  and  swamp.  Traditions  claim 
this  country  as  the  hunting-ground  of  Choctaws.  An 
old  confederacy  of  red  tribes  once  possessed  the 
lower  Mississippi  lands,  beginning  with  the  Houmas, 
near  our  present  "  coast,"  and  numbering  many  clans 
whose  very  names  are  now  forgotten.  These  nations 
built  their  forts  from  Bayou  Boeuff  to  Red  River,  rang- 
ing across  the  Teche  and  Atchafalaya,  and  through  all 
the  beautiful  Attakapas.  They  waged  fierce  war 
figainst  the  French  for  nearly  a  century  before  their 
remnants,  broken  and  disheartened,  migrated  to  wil- 
dernesses far  beyond  the  Mississippi,  and  were  ultimate- 


62  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

ly  lost  amid  the  predatory  hordes  which  rove  around 
the  bases  of  Sierra  Madre. 

I  am  speedily  exploring  the  surroundings  of  Tiger- 
ville.  Cool  hours  of  morning,  before  ten  o'clock,  and 
evening,  before  sunset,  are  allotted  to  a  ride  through 
neighboring  plantations.  Mid-day  heats  forbid  all  out- 
door locomotion,  and  at  twilight  rise  the  fogs  and 
swamp  malaria,  laden  with  seeds  of  typhus  and  ague. 
A  canter  of  ten  minutes  bears  me  to  Bronson's  mansion, 
long  since  abandoned  by  its  owners  in  fee-simple — 
months  ago  denuded  of  its  furniture  by  provost-mar- 
shal's confiscation.  A  robust  negro  swings  the  court- 
yard gate  wide  open,  and  a  dozen  sooty  urchins  scam- 
per round  my  horse  hoofs  as  I  cross  the  lawn.  The 
house  is  empty,  doors  and  windows  closed.  Some  old 
house-servants  occupy  the  back-buildings,  and  are  rais- 
ing vegetables  in  the  kitchen-garden,  as  of  yore.  They 
have  retained  a  few  remains  of  former  household  com- 
forts in  their  keeping,  white  counterpanes  and  "  quali- 
ty" mosquito-nets,  and  pieces  of  choice  china-ware. 

Across  a  bridge,  upon  the  opposite  bayou-bank,  are 
negro-quarters,  ^and  the  sugar-buildings,  with  their  rust- 
ing heaps  of  fine  machinery.  The  slaves  of  this  estate 
are  mostly  dwelling  hereabouts,  and  working  up  the 
land  "  on  shares. "  Left  destitute  by  their  owners, 
who  abandoned  every  thing  and  fled  before  the  march 
of  our  victorious  expedition  under  Weitzel,  these  negro 
field-hands  organized  themselves  in  a  rude  "labor- 
phalanx,"  chose  a  leader,  and  took  up  the  cultivation 
of  their  old  domain,  where  "  Massa  Bronson  "  left  it. 
They  have  now  at  least  a  moiety  under  cultivation,  and 
expect  to  make  a  "  right  smart  crap."  The  chosen 
"  overseer  " — a  thoughtful-featured  colored  man,  called 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  63 

"  Jim,"  rehearses  all  his  hopes  and  fears  to  me.  His 
"  sociates  "  are  "  right  smart"  and  "  willing  to  work," 
and  only  want  a  "  chance,"  but  "  Mauss  Bronson,  when 
he  run'd  away  to  Tuckapaw,  didn't  leave  no  stock 
on  de  place,  an  dar's  a  oveseer  o'  ole  mauss  staid  yer, 
an'  he's  a'gin  de  black  people  workin'  de  place,  unless 
dey  give  de  craps  to  him." 

"  But  how  do  you  work  the  place,  if  you  have  no 
stock,  Jim  ?  " 

"  I'ze  gwine  to  tell  you  'bout  de  stock,  Cunnil.  Dar 
wasn't  no  critters  on  de  place — mauss  tuk  'em  all 
away  ;  but  de  Linkin  sogers  'lowed  us  tree  hosses,  and 
we  skeer'd  up  some  old  mules  in  de  swamps  out  yer. 
Den  we  sot  about  gittin'  a  crap,  but  it's  mighty  hard 
work,  Cunnil,  kase  de  ole  white  overseer  am  a'gin  de 
black  people." 

"  But  your  master  has  run  away,  Jim.  Government 
now  owns  this  plantation.  Your  old  overseer  has  no 
authority  here. " 

"  D-dar's  de  diffikil,  Cunnil.  De  ole  overseer's  got 
all  de  pigs  and  de  yerlin's,  an'  he  sez  de  provost-sogers 
put  him  yer,  to  carry  on  de  place,  so  dat  we  isn't  no 
'count  whatsomdever." 

I  begin  to  have  an  adequate  idea  of  the  difficulties 
attending  this  "  free  labor  experiment "  organized  by 
negro  Jim  and  his  comrades.  Subsequently  I  ascer- 
tain all  the  points  of  their  case. 

These  contrabands,  it  seems,  cast  on  their  own  re- 
sources through  the  treason  and  secession  of  their  mas- 
ter, met  together  and  deliberated  in  true  democratic 
spirit  on  their  situation.  The  result  was,  that  they  "  or- 
ganized "  for  daily  labor  in  the  cultivation  of  a  large 
plantation.  They  had  no  capital  but  their  toil-hardened 


64  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

hands.  They  begged  some  "stock"  of  passing  sol- 
diers, and  a  sympathizing  cavalry  captain  gave  them 
three  unserviceable  horses.  To  these  they  added  sev- 
eral venerable  mules  reclaimed  from  wanderings  in  the 
swamp.  Thus  aided,  they  essayed  to  carry  on  the 
"  government  plantation ;"  when  an  overseer,  their  for- 
mer driver  under  "  ownership,"  stepped  in  with  new 
authority  derived  from  high  permission  of  a  provost- 
marshal,  sub-lieutenant  of  some  regiment  he  had  not 
seen  since  it  was  ordered  into  service.  Betimes,  our 
too-ambitious  laborers  of  "  African  descent "  discover 
that  their  owner's  representative  is  still  their  "  master," 
ordering  tasks,  appropriating  hogs  and  kine  and  chick- 
ens, and  asserting  generally  his  domination,  as  of 
yore. 

Here,  then,  a  brace  of  "  overseers,"  the  white  and 
black ;  no  great  encouragement  to  present  work,  and 
promising  small  future  compensation  to  the  workers. 

For  my  own  part,  I  sympathize  with  Jim  and  his 
stout  phalanx ;  but  beyond  this  I  am  powerless.  The 
provost-marshals  sway  plantations,  and  are  regnant 
in  all  labor-contracts.  Possibly,  if  I  were  martial  arbi- 
ter of  all  this  parish,  or  of  this  broad  belt  beside  the 
railway,  I  might  have  a  voice  in  "  organization."  I 
would  say  to  Jim,  one  day,  that  he  could  guard  this 
road  at  Tigerville  as  well  as  I  can.  I  would  bid  my 
commissary  serve  out  rations  to  the  man,  and  to  his 
negro  comrades,  men  like  him.  My  quartermaster 
should  supply  them  all  with  good  substantial  clothing, 
for  their  quondam  owner  has  bequeathed  them  only 
rags.  My  ordnance  officer  should  give  them  hoes, 
carts,  digging  implements,  and — muskets  and  cartridge- 
boxes.  So  then,  black-skinned  overseer,  called  "  Jim  " 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  65 

or  any  other  name,  with  "  gang,"  or  "  squad,"  or  "  com- 
pany "  of  "  organized  laborers,"  WELL-AEMED,  might 
constitute  a  portion  of  as  good  militia  as  this  Opelousas 
road  requires,  for  "  home  defence."  I  do  not  think  the 
presence  of  their  wives  and  children  on  plantations, 
worked  and  guarded  by  these  men,  would  make  them 
less  efficient.  I  do  not  think  a  just  or  generous  share 
in  all  the  products  of  their  toil  would  make  them  less 
desirous  of  protecting  this  fine  country  from  the  as- 
saults of  rebels.  I  dare  surmise  that  these  abandoned 
cane  and  cotton-fields  would  thrive  as  well  beneath  the 
willing  hands  of  black-skinned  soldiers,  armed  with 
rifles  and  supplied  with  ploughs,  as  ever  they  could 
thrive  under  reluctant  toil  of  black-skinned  Helots,  with 
no  interest  in  the  land  they  cultivate.-  What  says  my 
overseer  Jim  upon  the  question  ? 

"  Yes,  Cunnil,  we  is  mighty  sharp  to  1'arn — :de  black 
people  is." 

"  Jim !  how  many  black  men  are  there  in  Tigerville, 
as  strong  and  able-bodied  as  you  are  ?  " 

"  Reckon  dar's  a  heap,  Cunn'l.  Mebbe  dar's  two  hun- 
dred on  Mauss  Knight's  place,  an'  de  Hopkins  place, 
and  dis  yer  place  whar  we  is,  Cunn'l." 

"  Very  well,  Jim,  supposing  those  two  hundred  men 
could  learn  to  load  and  fire,  like  my  soldiers,  and  were 
to  have  guns  and  powder  a-plenty,  and  I  should  say  to 
them,  You  shall  have  half  of  all  the  crops  you  paise  on 
the  plantations  you  work;  but  you  must  watch  this 
railroad,  as  my  men  do,  and  keep  the  rebels  from  burn- 
ing bridges.  Do  you  think  you  could  do  it,  Jim  ?" 

I  wait  for  an  answer,  while  the  negro  seems  to  pon- 
der thoughtfully.  Presently  he  appears  to  comprehend 


66  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

my  entire  meaning,  for  a  big  tear  slowly  gathers  in  his 
eyes,  and  his  voice  quivers,  as  he  speaks. 

"  Cunn'l,"  says  overseer  Jim,  "  I'ze  a  poor  black 
man  !  We  is  all  berry  poor  and  berry  low,  kase  we 
was  in  slavery  all  our  born  days ;  but  de  good  Lord 
'lightens  de  black  man's  mind,  ebber  since  de  Lin- 
kum  sogers  come,  and " 

He  brushed  his  coarse  sleeve  across  his  wet  eyes,  and 
stopped  abruptly. 

"Well,  Jim!" 

"  Cunn'l,  I'ze  ready  an'  willin'  to  take  de  gun  an'  de 
sword,  an'  fight  for  de  good  cause.  We  is  all  ready 
an'  willin' ;  we  pray  to  de  Lord  for  a  chance.  " 

"  Jim,  there  are  nearly  two  thousand  of  your  people 
in  Terrebonne  parish,  all  strong  men  ;  do  you  think,  if 
you  were  well  armed,  you  could  keep  the  Tuckapaw 
rebels  from  coming  back  and  making  slaves  of  you 
again  ?" 

"Dunno,  Cunn'l,  de  Lord  only  knows  dat.  But 
I'ze  shore  o'  dis  yer  thing,  Cunn'l,  we'se  all  gwine  to 
jes'  die  in  our  tracks  'fore  dey  make  us  slaves  any 
more.  De  battle  is  not  to  de  strong,  Cunn'l ;  but  gib 
us  a«  chance,  an'  we  is  cl'ar  for  you,  Cunn'l.  De  black 
people  is  mighty  sharp  to  1'arn." 

I  leave  my  overseer  Jim  on  Bronson's  place,  and 
trot  on  toward  the  Hopkins  mansion,  to  reach  which  I 
cross  the  bayou  on  a  highway  bridge,  and,  turning  past 
a  massive  sugar-mill,  ride  in  upon  a  spacious  square, 
with  well-built  cottage-houses  fronting  on  two  sides. 
These  are  the  negro-quarters  —  quite  a  little  village; 
a  picket-fence,  with  carriage  gateway,  separates  the 
square  from  a  capacious  lawn,  on  which  the  "great 
house  "  stands  ;  a  handsome  structure  of  the  Southern 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  67 

style,  with  broad  piazza  and  a  pleasant  show  of  breeze- 
inviting  casements.  Here  is  more  "abandonment." 
The  lower  rooms  are  void  of  furniture ;  and  an  "  over- 
seer "  steps  out  to  tell  me  so,  and  to  inform  me  that  he 
represents  the  "  property."  A  few  cadaverous  negro 
children  and  a  wrinkled  yellow  woman  are  the  only 
representatives  of  "  labor  "  that  I  see  about  the  prem- 
ises. A  few  weeks  subsequent  to  this,  ray  first  inspec- 
tion of  the  Hopkins  place,  a  tall  adventurer  from  Ten- 
nessee obtains  it,  on  a  lease,  from  Government,  and  sets 
in  to  make  a  sugar  fortune.  The  situation  of  this  Hop- 
kins place  is  very  eligible  for  a  speculation  of  the  kind. 
Its  works  are  close  upon  the  bayou,  which  here  broad- 
ens, flowing  toward  the  Boeuff.  A  railroad  platform  is 
within  a  quarter-mile  of  it,  and  the  highway  deflects 
around  its  sugar-fields.  The  rebel  Hopkins  must  have 
been  a  prosperous  man  ;  and  yet  so  bitter  was  he  in  his 
treason,  that,  as  gossip  says,  he  reared  a  gallows  on  his 
grounds,  to  hang  the  "  abolitionists."  His  influence, 
doubtless,  caused  more  moderate  men,  like  Bronson 
and  some  others  of  his  neighbors,  to  espouse  the  reb- 
el cause,  and,  in  an  evil  hour,  desert  their  fine  estates 
and  happy  homes.  So  Tigerville  plantations  lie  around 
these  bayou-waters  in  "  admired  disorder,"  tempting 
speculation  from  afar.  Already  do  the  needy  hangers- 
on  at  New-Orleans  begin  to  snuiF  prospective  wealth 
without  necessity  of  personal  work.  Before  the  year 
runs  out,  there  will  be  "  masters  "  in  profusion  for  these 
tenantless  mansions.  What  should  deter  our  enterpris- 
ing sutlers,  and  "  resigning  "  officers  from  easy  ven- 
tures in  the  sugar  business  ?  "  Security  "  is  easily  ob- 
tained, while  Government  contracts  to  furnish  mules, 
and  men  to  "  stock  » the  lands,  and  even  advances  "  sal- 


68  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

aries  "  for  the  patriotic  gentlemen  who  hope  to  make 
their  fortunes  in  the  business. 

And  all  the  while,  that  great  black  human  Force, 
whose  life-long  strength  has  been  expended,  for  a  hun- 
dred years,  in  servile  toil,  is  reckoned  in  the  "  labor- 
contracts  "  only  as  the  "stock,"  whose  service  is  to 
multiply  the  gains  of  capital.  No  sound,  humanitarian 
plan  for  lifting  up  this  "  stock  "  to  manhood  ;  no  pro- 
visions for  a  future  self-respecting  peasantry,  whose 
souls  and  bodies  now  are  in  our  hands,  as  clay,  to 
mould  them  as  we  will ;  no  statesmanlike  attempt  to 
solve  the  mighty  labor-problem  of  our  nation's  future  ; 
none  of  these  grand  questions  are  involved  in  "  labor- 
contracts  "  and  "  plantation-leases.  "  This  is  the  day 
of  provost-marshals  and  omnipotent  staff-officers  in  un- 
exceptionable styles  of  undress  uniform.  God  help  our 
country  if  no  MEN  come  up,  to  take  the  place  of  girls 
and  boys  in  office ! 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  69 


CHAPTEK    VII. 

SPORTING  IN  A  BAYOU. 

THROUGH  the  morning  hours,  I  have  been  exploring  the 
mysteries  of  a  Louisiana  morass ;  penetrating  regions  of 
green  gloom,  gliding  into  cavernous  wilds  of  filamentous 
vegetation.  Seated  in  a  canoe  of  primitive  fashion,  the 
hollow  of  a  log,  that  packs  my  sides  and  limbs  in  coffin- 
like  snugness,  I  have  ascended  miles  from  camp,  under 
ghostly  cypress  limbs,  and  through  slimy  mould  of  rank 
confervas. 

Balancing  in  my  "dug-out,"  I  paddle  slowly  down  the 
sluggish  bayou.    A  summer  sun  rides  near  its  zenith,  but 
only  straggling  beams  of  heat  can  penetrate   the  over- 
spreading cypress  boughs.     The  temperature  is  of  delici- 
ous coolness ;  for  shadows  lie  all  day  upon  these  hidden 
waters.     Profound  quiet  broods  over  mar  vis  and  forest, 
sometimes  for  hours,  save  when  the  nutter  of  a  bird  awak- 
ing from  its  noontide  dream,  or  the  occasional  plash  of 
an  alligator  slipping  off  the  bank,  makes  momentary  rip- 
ples on  the  stillness.     The  grey  Spanish  moss  droops  mo- 
tionless in  long  festoons,  or  coils  fantastically  over  pen- 
dent foliage,  shrouding  all  the  life  beneath  with  sombre 
cerements.     Fire-blasted  cedar  trunks,  grim  and  pallid, 
look  out  like  ghosts  at  intervals,  uplifting  spectral  limbs. 
Small  breaks  of  sunshine  tell  of  openings  in  the  timber,, 
whence  come  gleams  of  emerald  turf  and  glimpses  of  in- 
terior landscape  ;  lovely  bits  of  light  and  shade,  chequer- 
ed by  wild  vines,  trellised  over  ancient  oaks ;  deep  nooks 
of  greenery  and  labyrinths  of  leafy  arches,  curtained  with 


70  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

a  gauze  of  purple  haze ;  and  slumbering  pools,  bridged 
over  by  the  cones  of  cypress  bolls. 

An  alligator's  shining  crest  appears  above  the  water, 
scarcely  two  boat-lengths  ahead  of  me.  The  reptile  swims 
so  noiselessly  that  no  one  could  detect  its  presence  by 
the  ear.  I  level  my  revolver  and  send  a  bullet  at  his 
wake.  The  missile  strikes,  but  glances  from  the  monster's 
scaly  hide  as  if  deflected  by  steel  armor.  In  a  moment 
all  the  bayou  is  alive  with  saurian  fugitives,  startled  by 
my  shot.  They  show  their  gleaming  vertebrae  here* 
there,  and  all  about  me.  A  black,  corrugated  head  has 
risen  close  behind  my  crazy  "dug-out."  I  take  quick  aim 
at  it,  internally  shuddering  at  the  prospect  of  a  sudden 
capsize  into  this  "certain  convocation"  of  wide-jawed 
"swamp-angels."  Whizz  goes  the  bullet,  and  I  plainly 
see  it  penetrate  the  alligator's  fore  leg,  at  the  articulation 
of  the  shoulder.  He  sinks  like  a  log.  Meantime  a  score 
of  ugly  shapes  have  reached  the  bayou  margins ;  some 
are  crawling  over  the  muddy  sedges  to  gain  their  "paths" 
to  the  remoter  swamp.  These  paths  or  trails  asre  well  de- 
fined, and  might  be  followed,  were  it  worth  the  while  to 
wade  through  slimy  morasses.  I  empty  my  remaining 
barrels  at  the  nearest  marks,  and  paddle  toward  a  cypress 
clump,  to  take  an  observation  from  some  point  that  looks 
like  vantage  ground.  But  here  my  flat  keel  "grounds" 
upon  a  ten-foot  alligator  that  has  wedged  his  long  pro- 
boscis between  roots  and  bolls.  My  "dug-out"  oversets, 
as  the  monster  flaps  his  huge  tail,  backing  into  deep 
water,  and  I  have  a  single  moment  left  me,  to  spring  up- 
on a  log  imbedded  near  the  shore.  Here,  with  useless 
paddle  and  discharged  revolver,  I  remain  a  cast-away,  my 
"dug-out"  half  submerged,  pushed  off  some  twenty  yards 
by  the  retreating  alligator. 

I  find  myself  in  awkward  straits.     I  mentally  repent 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  71 

my  recent  "troubling  of  the  waters.'*  The  log  -which 
gives  me  foothold  sways  like  a  Mississippi  "sawyer."  It 
is  fast  at  one  end,  but  beyond  that  end  some  twenty  feet 
of  morass  separate  it  from  terra  firma.  The  cypress 
clump  is  only  a  little  islet  near  the  bayou  edge,  with 
sedgy  mire  between  it  and  the  banks.  It  behooves  me 
to  extricate  myself,  if  possible,  from  immediate  peril  of 
a  plunge,  neck-deep  or  lower,  into  Louisiana  subsoil. 

My  saurians  have  vanished,  and  the  bayou  is  lonesome 
as  before.  Its  leaden  drapery  of  swamp  moss ;  its  wil- 
derness of  motionless  leaves ;  its  unbroken  shadows  and 
unrippled  waters ;  all  are  lapsed  into  the  lethargy  of 
noon.  I  might  stand  shouting  on  this  shaky  log  till  mid- 
night, with.no  other  answer  to  my  voice  than  muffled 
echoes  of  the  shrouded  woods. 

Steadying  myself  with  the  paddle,  I  shift  one  foot  and 
cautiously  essay  to  plant  it  on  a  cypress  boll.  These 
curious  vegetative  freaks,  the  bolls,  grow  clustered  at  the 
foot  of  cypress  trunks,  emerging  from  the  watery  ooze  in 
conical  shafts,  shaped  much  like  mime  cartridges.  It  is 
said  that  engineers  have  found  them  useful  as  foundation 
piles,  in  road-making  through  swamps.  However  this 
may  be,  I  vouch  for  one  thing  from  my  own  experience — 
that  to  cross  a  bridge  of  cypress  bolls  in  military  jack- 
boots is  no  trifling  effort  of  pedestrianism.  Hindoo 
theurgy  has  a  causeway  narrow  as  a  sabre-edge,  for  souls 
to  walk  over  hereafter.  I  venture  to  declare  that  cypress 
bolls  make  causeways  as  precarious  for  bodily  feet  to  lo- 
comote.  I  shiver  to  recall  the  slips  and  slides,  the  shakes 
and  quakes,  the  knee-bows  and  back-crookings  which  this 
journey  over  slimy  cypress  cones  exacted  of  me  ere  I 
reached  a  segment  of  the  tree  base  that  afforded  solid 
standing.  Hardly  was  the  feat  accomplished  ere  I  heard 
a  rustle  overhead,  and  realized,  to  my  horror,  that  I  had 


72  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

enemies  to  contend  with,  worse  than  alligators  or  the  mud 
that  breeds  them. 

I  had  gained  a  ridge  of  spongy  soil  clinging  about  the 
cypress  roots.  The  gnarled  trunk  was  thick  with  aged 
moss,  which  I  grasped  with  my  right  hand,  while  my  left 
held  by  the  paddle,  as  a  staff.  The  rustling  startled  me, 
and,  glancing  up,  I  spied  the  variegated  body  of  a  large 
snake  coiled  about  the  tree,  not  ten  feet  above  me.  And, 
looking  down,  I  saw,  so  nearly  in  my  path  that  a  footstep 
forward  would  have  trodden  on  it,  another  serpent,  lying 
in  convolutions,  and  apparently  asleep,  upon  the  dank 
green  turf.  A  glance  sufficed  to  tell  me  that  it  was  a 
moccasin-snake. 

I  do  not  like  to  recollect  the  sickening  feeling  that  for 
a  moment  came  over  me,  as  I  noticed  the  two  reptiles 
with  what  seemed  a  single  eye-shot.  I  have  a  horror  of 
the  serpent  tribe,  and  would  rather  face  a  battery  than  a 
rattle-snake.  But  here  was  no  retreat.  I  could  not  re. 
trace  my  steps  upon  the  cypress-cones.  To  jump  into 
that  gloomy  bayou,  and,  perhaps,  be  presently  entangled 
in  the  horrible  subaqueous  vegetation  over  which  I  had 
paddled  my  "dug-out,"  or  to  encounter,  at  the  miry  bot- 
tom, objects  of  I  knew  not  what  impurity  and  venom, 
seemed  no  pleasanter  alternative.  I  had  no  weapon  but 
the  paddle.  I  could  not  strike  one  snake,  even  the  sleep- 
ing one,  without  causing  the  other  to  attack;  and  yet 
I  could  not  pass  around  the  tree,  upon  that  spongy  ridge, 
unless  I  over-stepped  the  moccasin.  And  I  knew  not 
whether  this  cypress-clump,  with  its  base  of  mossy  peat, 
might  not  be  peopled  by  a  colony  of  serpents.  I  had 
heard  of  snake-dens  in  these  bogs ;  of  breeding  coverts, 
where  the  copperhead,  hooded-adder,  and  moccasin  min- 
gled their  horrid  progenies. 

The  time  consumed  while  I  stood  motionless,  supported 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  73 

by  my  paddle  and  the  tree,  was  very  brief,  scarce  com- 
putable ;  yet  in  that  instant  these  and  many  other  thoughts 
gleamed  through  my  mind.  The  sudden  danger,  prompt- 
ings to  escape  it,  and  regrets-  at  having  provoked  it,  were 
reflected  simultaneously  with  thoughts  of  home  and  con- 
sciousness of  present  surroundings.  The  bayou  solitude, 
its  shadow  and  its  quietude;  the  thickly-woven  green 
fronds,  upon  the  water ;  the  heavy  grey  moss  on  the  trees ; 
and,  more  distinct  than  other  things,  the  snakes  coiled 
over  head  and  at  my  feet — were  pencilled  by  a  single 
mental  flash.  Drawing  my  paddle  from  the  water,  with 
a  cautious  hand,  I  released  my  hold  upon  the  mossy  cy- 
press-trunk, and  raised  one  foot  to  step  across  the  snake 
before  me.  At  this  crisis  something  caused  the  other 
one  to  uncoil  suddenly,  and  in  an  instant  I  beheld  its 
glistening  head  and  forked  tongue  thrust  downward,  while 
its  eyes  burned  with  a  light  like  living  emeralds.  I  felt 
a  horrible  attraction  to  return  their  gaze.  I  thought  of 
stories  that  I  had  often  scoffed  at;  tales  of  fascinated 
birds  and  children.  I  thought  of  Eve's  temptation,  and 
of  Coleridge  and  the  Lady  Geraldine,  and  almost  fancied, 
that  those  luminous  eyes  were  set  under  a  female  fore- 
head, and  the  snaky  coils  beneath  were  silken  folds  of  a 
lady's  garments,  wrought  in  gold  and  opalesque  embroi- 
dery. This  spell,  if  spell  it  could  be  called,  was  quickly 
broken,  as  I  marked  the  serpent's  tail  abruptly  flung 
around  a  limb  above  me,  and  its  crest  curved  angrily 
over  a  coil  of  spiral  rings.  Involuntarily  I  shrank  from 
the  threatened  spring,  and,  as  I  did  so,  the  snake  sud- 
denly depressed  its  body,  darted  out  its  head  uneasily  to 
and  fro,  then  glided  to  a  higher  limb,  and  disappeared 
amid  the  maze  of  leaves  and  moss.  Another  second,  and 
I  heard  a  loud,  clear  voice,  breaking  the  stillness,  like  a 
silver  trumpet. 


74  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

11  De  cane  is  in  de  sugar-biler — 

0  de  goold  an'  silver,  massa ! 
Dar's  a  dollar  comin'  Christmas; 
O  de  goold  an'  silver,  inassa!" 

Plash,  plash !  a  pair  of  paddles  timed  the  musical  re- 
frain; and  close  beside  my  sunken  "dug-out"  I  saw  an- 
other canoe  glide  noiselessly  across  the  stream,  propelled 
by  an  old  negro,  who  was  singing  a  plantation  song.  I 
hailed  him  lustily,  and  bade  him  take  me  from  the  cypress 
clump. 

The  son  of  Ham  was  dwarfish,  thin,  and  dried  as  any 
herring,  and  I  doubt  if  there  was  skill  or  harmony  in  his 
minstrelsy;  but  I  never  felt  such  pleasure  in  the  voice 
of  Mario  or  Sontag  as  I  did  in  hearing  that  grotesque 
boatman.  Hardly  had  his  paddle  struck  the  cypress-bolls, 
when  I  stepped  toward  his  skiff. 

"De  gracious!  massa  Cunn'l,  is  you  dar?  Lef  dat  yei 
cypress  hole  mity  quick,  sah !  Dar's  snakes  out  yer !  Dar's 
mocassins  yerabouts,  mass'  Cunn'l !" 

I  took  my  seat  in  the  skiff  as  steadily  as  was  possible, 
stretching  my  legs  out,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  Then,  tell- 
ing the  negro  to  remain  quiet  a  moment,  I  proceeded  to 
re-load  the  revolver,  which  I  had  placed  in  its  belt-case. 
I  levelled  and  discharged  one  barrel  at  the  moss-grown 
boughs  that  concealed  the  larger  serpent.  I  fired  another 
at  the  tree-base,  where  reposed  the  moccasin. 

"Dar's  snakes  yer,  sartin,  mass'  Cunn'l!"  said  the 
negro;  "dat's  de  cypress  hole  whar  all  de  sarpints 
come  from.  Hope  some  ob  dem's  done  killed  by  de  Lin- 
kum  bullets,  sah ! " 

A  notable  response  to  the  darkey's  remark  was  ob- 
servable in  the  cypress  clump  and  its  surroundings. 
The  spongy  peat  about  the  central  trunk,  and  all  the 
mass  of  tangled  undergrowth  which  hemmed  the  water- 
sairface,  appeared  at  once  in  motion.  Overhead,  both  moss 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  75 

and  foliage  were  agitated,  as  if  shaken  by  a  breeze.  A 
hissing,  spiteful  and  prolonged,  pierced  through  the  mazy 
vegetation.  I  fired  four  charges  more,  in  quick  succes- 
sion, at  the  cypress  hole. 

"Dem  sarpints  done  skeered,  if  dey  isn't  hit,  mass* 
Cunn'l !"  cried  the  old  negro,  encouragingly,  as  he  pad- 
dled his  skiff  away  from  the  horrible  locality.  I  did  not 
tell  him  how  "done  skeered"  I  had  been  myself,  a  little 
while  before,  but  listened  quietly  to  his  encomiums  on 
my  courage  in  exploring  snake-haunts. 

"If  dey'm  one  sarpint  in  dat  cypress  hole,"  said  the 
citizen  of  African  descent,  "dey'm  sartin  shore  tree  or 
four  million.  I  seed  dem  sunnin*  darselves,  sah,  berry 
often,  when  de  bayou's  done  dry,  out  yer  by  de  bolls. 
Dar's  a  ole  gum  tree  toder  side  de  cypress,  whar  dar's 
more'n  forty  million !" 

I  made  some  allowance  for  Uncle  Bill's  arithmetical 
mistakes ;  but  assented  to  the  main  fact,  that  there  were 
"some  snaix,"  as  well  as  alligators,  in  that  bayou.  Uncle 
Bill  earned  a  dollar,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  realised 
the  value  of  it  in  my  reptile  experience. 


76  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

AFRICAN  DESCENT. 

THE  sun  sets.  I  have  discussed  the  evening  rations, 
and  am  sitting  in  my  quarters,  enveloped  with  smoke- 
clouds.  My  servant  George  kindles  fire  upon  an  iron 
shovel,  in  the  doorway,  thereby  blinding  human  optics, 
in  order  to  expel  mosquitoes,  that  loom  up  in  customary 
twilight  cohorts.  Mosquitoes,  in  this  land  of  swamps, 
are  not  like  our  feeble  insectorial  phlebotomists  of  Long 
Branch  or  Cape  May.  In  Louisiana  they  are  the  Mame- 
lukes of  flying  tribes,  charging  at  cavalry  bugle-calls,  and 
slinging  dart  and  javelin  with  unerring  skill  into  targets 
of  epidermis.  "Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail,"  their 
sting  is  legion  and  their  buzz  abominable.  In  camp,  our 
only  refuge,  outside  of  mosquito-netting,  is  in  the  pungent 
smell  and  dense  fume  of  dry  and  fibrous  road-manure. 
Formerly,  the  people  hid  from  sun-down  to  "sun-up," 
under  canopies  and  within  walls  of  gauze ;  not  nets  for 
beds  only,  but  pendent,  likewise,  over  tea-tables,  and 
closely  circumscribing  chairs  and  sofas.  Thus  girt  in  by 
bars  transparent,  one  may  tolerate  these  sultry  summer 
evenings ;  but  to  be  exposed,  under  assault  of  countless 
and  ubiquitous  tormentors,  is  what  no  man  with  a  cuticle 
not  quite  rhinocerine  could  endure  without  becoming 
frantic. 

"  Some  cullud  gen'l'men  desires  to  speak  to  you,  sah !" 
says  George ;  emerging  from  his  cloud-compelling  incan- 
tations. 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  77 

I  nod  permission,  and  the  "  colored  gentlemen  "  pre- 
sently introduce  themselves,  .with  much  shuffling  at  door- 
sill ;  five  negroes  from  neighboring  estates;  all  mani- 
festly gotten  up  for  the  occasion.  Their  cotton  shirts 
are  immaculately  clean,  the  collars  of  great  size.  Their 
Kentucky  jeans,  of  many  patches,  are  glossy  with 
recent  soapsuds. 

"Good  ebenin',  Cunn'l!— Is  ye  in,  Cunn'l?"  inquires 
the  spokesman,  showing  flashing  rows  of  ivory,  as  he 
ducks  his  head.  "Cunn'l,  we'm's  a  delegation ob — ob — " 

"  Ah,  indeed  !    What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

'•  We  r'esents  de  cullud  popylashin,  which  am  libin* 
yer  abouts,  Cunn'l?  We'se  done  heerd  ob  de  prok'lashin, 
Cunn'l!" 

"  Oh!  you  have  heard  of  the  proclamation!** 

"  Yis,  yis,  Cunn'l  —  de  day  ob  fas'  an'  pray,  sot  apart. 
We'se  all  cl'ar  Unum  people,  Cunn'l,  but  las'  y'ar  we's 
all  'bleeged  to  keep  de  day  ob  fas'  an'  pray  fur  Jeff's 'n 
Davis,  whe'r'o'no;  now  dis  y'ar,  we's  gwine  to  keep  de 
Lord's  fas'  day  fur  de  Unum,  'cordn'  to  Mauss'  Linkum's 
pro'lemashin,  Cunn'l!" 

"  How  did  you  know  about  tke  proclamation  ?  " 

"De  Linkum  sojers  down  in  camps  yer,  tole  us  'bout 
it,  Cunn'l ;  an'  we  done  heerd  one  Linkum  ossifer  readin' 
it  out  ob  de  paper  to  dat  yaller  gen'Pman  what  cooks  for 
you,  Cunn'l! " 

"Very  well,  my  loyal  friends;  I  see  nothing  to  pre- 
vent your  keeping  fast-day,  if  you  desire." 

"Dar's  anudder  suckumstance,  Cunn'l,  which  we'm 
gwine  to  ax  you  a  favor  fur  de  cullud  popylashin ;  'kase 
we'm  a  delegashin  'pinted  fur  dat  same.  You  see,  Cunn'l, 
we's  got  no  house  ob  de  Lord  whar  cullud  pussons  can 
'semble ;  dar's  no  place  fur  to  pray  to  de  Lord,  'cept  de 
cane  an'  de  swamp;  an'  dar's  a  Lord's  house  ober  de 


78  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

bayou,  Cunn'l,  shot  up  all  de  time,  'kase  Secesh  owns  it, 
an'  Secesh  an't  gwine  to  wush'p,  'kase  dey'm  'bleeged  to 
pray  for  Mass'  Linkum  an'  de  ole  Unum." 

"So  the  'Secesh'  own  that  little  church  over  the 
bayou  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,  Cunn'l,  sartin* ;  'kase  dat  yer  church  was  'rec- 
ted  fur  de  maussas  an'  missys  roun'bout  yer!  I  tell  you 
de  troof,  Cunn'l,  dey  nebber  let  pore  brack  slabe  gwo  in 
dar,  'cep'  fur  to  scrub  de  flure;  an'  now  de  dure  am 
close',  an'  dey  nebber  gwos  dar  demselves,  'kase  mos'  all 
de  maussas  an*  missys  done  run'd  away  to  Tuckapaw." 

"  The  church  is  never  used  now,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Sartin'  not,  Cunn'l.  Dat  ar'  bressed  Lord's  house, 
nebber  h'ar  de  voice  ob  pray  an'  praise  any  more  dar. " 

"  Well,  go  home  to  your  people,  and  tell  them  they 
shall  have  the  church  on  fast  day,  and  on  Sabbath  days 
also,  if  they  promise  to  keep  the  building  in  good  order." 

"De  Lord  bress  ye,  Cunn'l!  you'm  berry  kind  to  us» 
an'  we's  nebber  gwine  to  forget  yer ! " 

"I  shall  attend  church  with  you,  on  fast-day,  my 
friends!" 

"De  good  Lord  bress  ye,  Cunn'l!  We'm  oberjoyed  to 
h'ar  you  say  dat.  Now,  we's  gwine  to  fas'  an'  pray,  an' 
hab  a  joyful  time  in  de  Lord." 

Betimes,  on  fast-day,  Tigerville  appears  alive  with 
peripatetic  black  people.  Much  tribulation  and  suppres- 
sed bile  in  planterdom ;  muttered  maledictions,  I  fear, 
on  galleries  of  great  houses;  scowls  and  evil  glances 
under  broad-brimmed  hats  of  loungers  on  railroad  plat- 
forms— all  signs  like  these  betoken  under-ourrents  of 
uneasiness  in  our  small  body  politic.  There  is  reason. 
Such  shocking  innovation  on  past  conservatism  as  the 
opening  of  a  meeting-house  to  negro  worshipers,  was  well 
calculated  to  disturb  the  equilibrium  of  any  parish  town 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  79 

in  Louisiana.  But  here,  on  Terrebonne  territory;  from 
old  French  times  the  bosom-soil  of  slaveholding  oligar- 
chies; here,  where  the  chattel-caste  has  been  lashed, 
chained,  branded,  yoked  in  iron-toothed  collars,  filleted 
with  steel-spiked  garlands,  shod  with  shackle-bars; 
burned,  starved,  hanged,  drowned,  and  buried  alive;  in 
such  a  paradise  of  bondage  as  this  parish  used  to  be ; 
what  cruel  revolutions  must  have  forced  the  way  to  such 
an  outrage  as  is  now  contemplated — the  worshiping  of 
God  by  negroes,  under  roof-tree  of  a  church,  pursuant  to 
"Yankee  proclamation." 

But  the  blacks  themselves  are  troubled  very  little 
with  the  chagrin  of  their  quondam  lords.  This  "Lincoln 
Fast-Day,"  breaking  over  moss-hung  swamp-forests,  finds 
few  workers  on  plantation  grounds,  within  a  half-score 
miles  of  Tigerville.  Black  loyalty  asserts  itself,  militant 
against  "masterism"  and  reckless  of  "labor  contracts," 
for  this  day,  at  least.  The  sable  pilgrims  to  our  unpre- 
tending wooden  temple,  on  the  bank  of  Bayou  Black,  are 
no  solemn-faced  sinners,  sackclothed  and  ashy,  creeping 
along  with  unboiled  peas  in  their  boots.  Clean-shirted, 
shining,  jubilant,  they  come ;  in  pairs  and  squads ;  young 
Toms  and  Jacks,  with  dusky  Phillises  and  Dinahs;  busk- 
ined  and  barefoot;  capped,  'kerchiefed,  and  palm-hatted; 
hooped,  ruffled,  furbelowed,  rainbow-hued;  a  "Vanity 
Fair"  of  holiday  negrodom,  arrayed  in  smiles,  grins,  gri- 
maces, and  serio-comic  dignity. 

I  don  my  uniform ;  forgetting  not  chapeau  and  silken 
sash ;  gird  sword  upon  me ;  and  attend,  for  the  first  time 
in  life,  a  negro  church  service.  The  scene  is  picturesque. 

A  small  but  pretty  edifice,  whitewalled  and  ornamented 
with  green  blinds,  retires  a  little  from  the  bayou-road  in 
cloistral  seclusion.  Its  open  windows  are  surrounded 
by  groups  of  negroes,  decked  with  the  gayest  treasures 


80  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

of  their  simple  wardrobes.  Beyond,  are  oven-tombs, 
receptacles  of  prostrate  frames  that  once  were  clothed 
with  flesh  and  moved  erect  within  these  temple  pre- 
cincts. The  mausolea  are  half-hidden  under  rank 
luxuriance  of  grasses,  weeds,  and  clambering  vines. 
Small  clumps  of  violets  and  strawberry  blooms  are  sprout- 
ing at  their  bases;  green  fans  of  dwarf  palmettos,  stiff 
and  spinous,  grow,  hedge-like,  round  them.  A  back- 
ground of  dense  foliage — oaks  and  gum  trees,  heavy  with 
moss — thickens  into  the  semi-circling  cypress-swamp; 
and  far  back  stretch  wildernesses  of  unbroken  morass, 
widening  ever,  until  swallowed  up  by  sea-side  marshes. 

The  church  is  crowded;  doors  and  casements  choked 
with  joyous  black  people.  It  is  an  epoch  in  their  lives, 
this  liberty  to  preach  and  pray,  within  church-walls, 
quite  independent  of  an  overseer.  I  sympathize  with 
their  blameless  demonstrations ;  for  I  have  heard  of  the 
thorny  paths  wherein  many  walked,  in  years  gone  by,  to 
life  beyond  the  grave ;  of  scourgings,  chains,  and  pillories 
for  black  confessors  of  -Emmanuel's  name,  who  met  in 
cypress-swamps  and  canebrakes,  to  exchange  their  lowly 
testament  of  Christian  faith.  I  know  that  many  of  these 
poor  worshipers  belonged  to  masters  who  denied  them 
even  one  day  of  rest  in  seven ;  that  most  of  them  were 
once  forbidden  to  meet  for  purposes  of  worship,  lest  that 
ever-present  phantom,  Insurrection,  might  arise  between 
them  and  the  owners  of  their  souls  and  bodies.  It  is  no 
marvel  to  me,  then,  this  great  "joy  in  de  Lord,"  overflow- 
ing from  humble  hearts.  The  day  of  Fast  is  day  of 
Jubilee  for  them;  Feast  of  Purim,  whereby  they  com- 
memorate a  Great  Deliverance  of  their  Race. 

Now  arises,  at  the  sacred  desk,  a  patriarch  of  the  plan- 
tations, bald  and  wrinkled,  but  bright-eyed.  He  has 
never  learned  to  read  the  Word  of  God,  but  from  his  me- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  81 

mory  of  Scripture  texts  collected  during  a  septuagint  of 
years, 

"He  wales  a  portion,  with  judicious  care, 
And  '  Let  us  worship  God ! '  he  says,  with  solemn  air." 

I  should  fail  to  render,  even  with  phonographic  pen, 
the  fervid  language,  much  less  the  earnest  manner,  of 
this  dusky  preacher,  holding  forth  to  his  fellows,  with 
"spontaneous,  rushing,  native  force."  No  rounded  peri- 
ods, no  flourishes  of  rhetoric,  no  well-culled  flowers  of 
diction,  challenge  admiration ;  but  the  utterance  of  feel- 
ing, clothed  in  rudest  words,  is  often  more  impressive 
than  all  grace  of  oratory.  He  dwells  upon  the  sufferings 
of  his  people,  their  years  of  degradation,  their  martyrdom 
to  servile  toil.  He  counts  their  manifold  wrongs,  and 
calls  to  mind  their  timid  hopes,  glimmering  like  swamp- 
lights  across  the  dark  pathways  of  past  endurance ;  their 
feeble  midnight  longings,  wherewith  they  evermore  yearn- 
ed toward  "sun-up;"  their  struggling  faith  in  the  com- 
ing Dayspring,  which  was  to  "  c'lar  'way  all  de  fogs  from 
de  ma'shes,  "  and  "p'int  de  way  out  ob  Slabery's  swamp, 
to  de  green  field  ob  Liberty  ! " 

"Bress  de  Lord  for  his  mercy,  brudd'rin!"  shouts  the 
old  man.  "  0,  gib  t'anks  to  de  good  Lord !  Dis  mighty 
Deliberance  is  done  come  yer  at  last ;  an'  de  paff  ob  de 
poo'  slabe  am  made  straight;  an' we'm  marchin' out  ob 
de  wilderness!  De  Lord  bress  dese  Yankee  sojers! 
May  de  angel  ob  de  Lord  march  'long  side  ob  dem,  with 
His  flamin*  sword !  O  poo'  culled  brudd'rin'  an'  sistern  ! 
nebber  turn  you'  back  on  de  Linkum  sojers !  Run  an* 
do  all  de  errands  fur  dem;  gib  dem  to  shar*  whatsomeb- 
ber  you'm  got  fur  to  eat  an'  to  drink ;  nuss  dem  when 
dey'm  done  sick !  pray  fur  dem  ebbery  day  an*  night,  my 
poo'  brudd'rin  and  sistern !  After  all,  you  isn't  able  to 
pay  half  ob  de  debt  you'm  owin*  dem  !  Oh!  you'm  got  a 


82  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

debt  owin'  to  dese  Yankee  sojers  all  you'  libes.  Dey  is 
done  fetched  de  blessin's  ob  liberty  to  you  an'  to  me,  poo' 
darkeys !  I  is  willin*  to  wu'k  fur  dem !  I  is  willin'  to 
nuss  dem!  I  is  wantin'  to  pray  to  de  Lord,  all  de  time, 
dat  he  will  stan'  by  de  Yankees  and  gib  dem  de  victory. 
I  is  willin'  to  die  fur  dese  sojers  yer!  Bress  de  Lord, 
we'm  all  willin'  an'  ready  to  lie  down  an'  die  fur  Ab'm 
Linkum  an'  his  sojers,  dat  gib  us  our  bressed  freedom  to 
wush'p  in  dis  yer  house  ob  de  Lord,  after  we'm  wu'k'd 
in  de  house  of  bondage  all  our  days  an'  y'ars  befo' !" 

Who  could  depict  the  energy  and  expression  that  ac- 
companied this  exhortation?  Perspiration  trickled  from 
the  preacher's  every  pore;  large  drops  beaded  his  swart 
forehead,  glittering  like  a  nimbus.  His  withered  arms 
were  flung  out  wildly;  he  bent  his  attenuated  frame  over 
the  desk,  as  if  to  reach  bodily  and  enclasp  his  hearers. 
Our  soldiers,  gathering  outside  the  doors,  were  evidently 
much  affected  by  the  vehemence  and  sincerity  wherewith 
divine  protection  was  invoked  for  them.  I  write  the 
preacher's  words ;  but  I  cannot  more  than  indicate  the 
chorus  attending  every  effective  pause;  a  curious  mono- 
toned vocal  symphony,  which,  like  some  long-drawn  con- 
gregational "Amen!"  responded  in  a  sort  of  humming 
chant.  The  rhythmic  melody  of  this  low  refrain  of 
mingling  voices  cannot  be  realized  without  a  hearing  of 
it.  It  is  not  so  much  an  audible  syllabizing,  as  a  sup- 
pressed hum,  like  inward  singing. 

PREACHER.  Brudd'rin*  an'  sistern!  we'm  gwine  to 
praise  de  Lord  for  'mancipation ! 

CONGREGATION.  Bress  de  Lord  fur  'mancipation! — 
U-m-m-m-0-m-m-m-O! 

PREACHER.  We'm  gwine  to  cross  de  Jordan,  marchin' 
troo  de  Land  ob  Canaan ! 


DEPAKTMEKT  OF  THE  GULF.  83 

CONGREGATION.  Troo  de  Land  ob  Canaan.  U-m-m-m- 
O-m-m-m-0!  <f  i  •;< 

PREACHER.  Oh!  we'm  happy  dis  yer  day!  Oh!  we'm 
joyful!  May  de  Lord  bress  dis  ossifer  dat  gib  us  de 
church  fur  wush'p  in !  De  Lord  strengthen  dat  man's 
hand,  an'  stan'  by  'm  in  de  day  ob  battle,  an'  nebber, 
nebber  leabe  go  ob  him!  'Kase  he'm  de  poo'  brack  man's 
friend,  may  de  Lord  bress  'm  fur  't !  May  de  Lord  bress 
'm  an'  stan'  by  'm ! 

CONG.  De  Lord  bress  'm,  and  stan'  by  'm!  U-m-m-m- 
O-m-m-m-0  ! 

PREACHER.  Sing  a  new  song  onto  de  Lord !  Bress 
Ab'mLinkum!  Bress  de  Unum  sojers  !  Bress  de  Yankee 
people  !  Glory,  brudd'rin' !  glory,  sistern  !  Glory  to  de 
Lord  ob  Deliberance  !  Oh  !  glory  hallelujah ! 

CONG.  Glory,  glory,  hallelujah!  U-m-m-m  O-m-m-m-0! 

And  so  the  strange  ritual  of  these  blacks  went  on ;  and 
the  church,  so  long  disused,  so  long  without  a  preacher 
or  a  prayer,  was  thus  reconsecrated  to  the  God  of  Free- 
dom. I  doubt  if  worship  arose  from  any  altar  in  our 
land,  that  day,  more  fresh  and  single-hearted  than  these 
orisons  of  lowly  Christians,  who  were  creeping  out  of 
darkness  and  dolor  toward  the  sunrise  of  a  future  that 
shall  know  no  bondage. 

The  opening  of  this  tabernacle  to  negro  worshippers 
did  not  please  some  score  of  property-holders,  who 
esteemed  themselves  the  "public"  of  our  small  communi- 
ty ;  but  Sabbath-days  in  Tigerville  were  observed,  there- 
after, in  spite  of  this  futile  jealousy.  Meantime,  my  little 
camp  began  to  have  a  history  in  plantation  circles,  and  to 
be  looked  upon  by  the  poor  people  as  a  kind  of  City  of 
Refuge,  for  the  oppressed  among  them.  Many  were  the 
appeals  whereof  I  presently  found  myself  called  upon  to 


84  TWENTY   MONTHS   IN    THE 

be  the  umpire ;  multitudinous  the  questions  I  was  ex- 
pected to  arbitrate.  Possessing  no  administrative  autho- 
rity beyond  the  pickets  of  my  post,  I  could  do  nothing  in 
a  hundred  cases  where  much  good  ought  to  be  done,  and 
much  evil  might  be  prevented  under  competent  jurisdic- 
tion. There  is  no  limit  to  the  influence  of  white  officials 
over  these  docile  blacks,  where  once  the  latter's  confi- 
dence and  respect  are  gained.  The  common  cant  of  harsh 
or  prejudiced  men,  that  "negroes  are  worth  oothing  with- 
out the  whip,"  is  merely  an  excuse  for  ignorance  or  ty- 
ranny I  have  the  word  of  masters,  who  formerly  owned 
and  worked  their  hundreds,  that  the  slaves  accomplished 
quite  as  much  where  neither  lash  nor  manacle  was  used, 
as  where  these  were  the  only  means  of  discipline.  Our 
laborers  of  the  south  require  not  "mastering,"  but  "con- 
ducting "  As  a  race,  they  are  industrious,  quick  witted, 
and  faithful,  where  they  feel  themselves  protected.  Ex- 
ceptions to  this  rule  are  not  more  noticeable  in  black- 
skinned  peasantry  than  in  white. 

An  old  man  comes  to  me,  one  morning,  mounted  on  a 
decent  pony.  He  has  his  tale  to  tell.  His  "missus," 
whom  he  had  served  for  half  a  century,  "got  skeered" 
when  General  Weitzel's  forces  marched  through  Terre- 
bonne  parish,  ?md  she  proposed  a  "labor-contract"  to  her 
nearly-superannuated  bondman.  There  being  no  use  for 
him  at  home,  he  was  allowed  to  "hire  out"  to  a  neighbor- 
ing planter,  on  condition  that  a  portion  of  his  earnings 
should  be  appropriated  for  the  clothing  of  his  wife  and 
children,  who  were  to  remain  in  service  with  the  "mis- 
sus." '•  Ole  missus  drawed  a  writin",  said  this  simple 
black,  "an'  tole  me  fur  to  make  my  mark  agin  it — " 
"  But  how  did  you  know  what  the  writing  was,  uncle  ?" 
"  Ole  missus  say  its  all  right  fur  me  an'  my  ole  ooman, 
sah.  Ole  missus  say  she  dunno  whedder  de  yankees 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  85 

gwine  to  make  de  cullud  people  'mancipate,  or  whedder 
we's  to  'tay  whar  we  is — She  say,  she  'fraid  we's  gwine  to 
be  sot  free,  an'  I'se  berry  ole  niggah,  so  I's  better  go  hire 
out  wi'  Dutch  massa,  an'  s'port  myself,  'kase  times  is  hard." 

"  You  agreed  to  that,  uncle  !" 

"Yes,  sah !  I  fought  I  mought  'arn  sometin'  fur  de  pore 
chil'n — so  I'se  glad,  massa,  fur  to  do  mos'  ennyt'ing  ole 
missus  tell  me.  Den  I  'gree  wi'  de  Dutch,  up  dar  on 
Houma  road,  fur  six  dollar  a  mont'.  I'se  wu'k  faithful, 
sah,  summer  an'  winter,  de  good  Lord  knows  dat ;  an' 
I'se  done  'arn'd  sebenty  tree  dollar,  'sides  draw'n'  seben 
dollar  fur  de  chil'n.  Den  ole  missus  come,  an'  try  fur 
ter  git  all  de  money,  'kase  she  say  she  make  'noder  'gree- 
ment  wi'  Dutch  massa.  She  say  he  done  'bleege  to  gib  her 
all  de  wage,  'kase  de  niggers  not  'mancipate  in  Tarbonne." 

"Where  is  the  writing  you  signed?" 

"  I  gib  dat  ar*  writin'  to  my  ole  ooman  fur  safekeep, 
an'  de  missus  done  took  it  back  ag'in,  sah  !  Ole  missus 
say  dat  writin'  no  'count,  'kase  de  yankee  gineral  gwine 
to  lef  all  de  massas  an'  missys  hab  de  slaves  back  ag'in, 
jes'  like  ole  times  'fore  de  war." 

I  begin  to  see  through  the  difficulties  under  which  this 
"person  of  African  descent"  is  laboring.  His  politic 
mistress,  anticipating  the  worthlessness  of  property  in 
slaves,  had  shrewdly  bound  her  septuagenarian  chattel 
to  an  agreement  whereby  she  could  keep  his  wife  and 
grandchildren  in  her  service  at  the  old  laborer's  expense ; 
but  being  subsequently  assured  that  no  immediate  emanci- 
pation was  to  be  apprehended  in  Terrebonne  parish,  she 
repudiated  this  "labor  contract,"  and  claimed  the  earnings 
of  her  too-confiding  servant. 

Next  day,  a  sallow  white  man,  assuming  to  represent 
the  mistress  of  my  client,  arrived  at  camp,  intent  on  "ex- 
tradition." He  laid  claim  also  to  the  old  man's  pony, 


86  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

averring  that  the  animal  was  stolen.  I  called  up  the  fu- 
gitive, for  cross-examination ;  but  his  previous  story  re- 
mained uncontradicted.  It  was,  moreover,  acknowledged 
on  the  part  of  "the  prosecution/'  that  the  pony  had  been 
given,  while  a  sickly  colt,  to  the  negro,  by  his  "young 
massa,"  now  an  officer  in  the  Confederate  service.  "Young 
mass'  reckoned  de  colt  'ud  die ;  but  I  jes'  nuss'd  it,  an' 
Hended  it,  an'  de  pore  leetle  cretur'  done  got  well ;  'kase 
I  buy  'm  de  doctor  stuff  wi'  my  own  money,  what  I  done 
'arn'd  mysef,  sah  ?  I  wu'k'd  for  dat  colt,  an'  I  wu'k'd  fur 
de  chil'n ;  an'  dat  ar'  leetle  boss  was  gib  me  by  young 
mass' — an'  dar  nebber  was  nobody  on  de  place  dat  did 
n't  know  de  pony  's  my  pony  !  De  Lord  b'ar  me  witness, 
sah,  fur  de  troof  what  I  say,  sah." 

So  asseverates  the  "contraband. "  But  as  "a  negro  has 
no  rights  which  a  white  man  is  bound  to  respect,"  my 
sallow-faced  Caucasian  claimant  continues  to  assert  pro- 
perty in  both  man  and  beast,  and  presently  blusters  about 
provost-marshal  authority,  threatening  thereunto  to  ap- 
peal; whereat  I  call  a  sergeant,  of  somewhat  decided 
abolition  sentiment,  and  quietly  abandon  the  case  into 
his  hands ;  the  result  whereof  appears,  next  day,  in  the 
addition  of  a  new  negro  cook  to  one  of  our  messes,  and 
the  purchase  from  that  cook  of  a  handsome  pony  by  one 
of  my  officers.  Meantime,  the  "disputed  wages"  remain 
in  trust  of  "Dutch  massa,"  to  await  ultimate  develop- 
ments of  our  conciliation  policy. 

My  servant  John,  a  sable  valet,  brought  from  home 
with  me,  presents  himself  one  day,  with  aspect  of  deep 
import.  John  is  intelligent,  and  has  improved  some  op- 
portunities of  instruction.  He  is  big  now,  with  an  edu- 
cational project.  He  would  establish  a  school.  He  will 
give  lessons  in  spelling  and  reading  to  plantation  chil- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  87 

<tt?en.     He  is  confident  of  his  ability  to  teach  all  he  knows 

himself.  '  ^ 

i 

I  inquire  into  the  matter,  and  find  that  John  has  re- 
ceived liberal  offers  from  heads  of  families.  A  class  of 
twenty  scholars  is  promised,  and  each  colored  father  is  to 
contribute  the  sum  often  cents  weekly  for  teacher's  salary 
and  expenses.  Will  I  give  permission  ?  John  thinks  he 
can  do  "a  heap  of  good.1'  He  has  collected  a  dozen  spel- 
ling books,  besides  some  copies  of  Soldiers'  Hymns. 

"Where  did  you  obtain  the  spellers,  John  ?" 

"  0,  sir,  a  good  many  colored  ladies  on  the  plantations 
saved  up  all  the  spelling-books  their  young  masters  used 
to  study." 

"  But  they  could  not  read  them,  John,  and  were  for- 
bidden to  learn." 

"  Yes,  sir — but  you  know,  they  'spected  to  learn  some- 
time, sir !  They  say  they  always  'spected  us  Yankees 
would  come  along,  some  day,  and  learn  'em  to  read — so, 
you  see,  Colonel,  they  saved  up  all  the  spellin'-books  and 
bibles  they  came  across,  sir  !" 

"  Go,  and  try  your  skill  at  teaching,  John  !  I  have  no 
objection." 

A  few  days  after  this,  in  passing  by  a  ruinous  ware- 
house, near  the  freight-depot,  I  hear  a  hum  of  voices 
through  an  open  door-way.  John  has  his  school  in  ses- 
sion. He  sits  in  glossy  dignity,  with  a  white  paper 
shirt  collar  stiffening  his  ebony  neck ;  a  book  in  one  hand, 
and  a  rod  in  the  other.  Under  his  vigilant  eyes  two 
rows  of  seats  extend ;  occupied  by  sooty  urchins,  woolly 
locked  and  barefooted,  of  every  tender  age,  from  three 
year- olds  to  youths  and  maidens  in  their  teens.  All  wear 
a  serious  air.  Responsibility  rests  upon  each  laboring 
brow.  These  children  of  the  bondman  race,  with  ragged 
spelling-books ;  this  sable  teacher,  but  a  child  in  years 


00  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

himself;  those  toil-marked  sires  and  mothers,  bowing  in 
yonder  fields,  beneath  a  midday  southern  sun,  to  earn  the 
pittance  that  shall  win  their  little  ones  a  glimpse  into 
the  realms  of  knowledge  which  have  made  the  white  men 
kings  and  masters  of  this  earth; — all  have  their  mute 
significance  for  me !  To  doubt  that  Providence  is  open- 
ing up  a  better  future  for  the  American  Helot,  is  to 
doubt  that  Providence  exists. 

From  the  summit  of  an  Indian  mound,  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  my  camp,  I  overlook  the  rail-track,  curving  out 
from  eastern  woods  and  winding  into  western  morasses. 
White  tents,  in  two  rows,  with  a  street  between,  are 
flanking  the  station.  From  a  tall  flag-pole,  our  banner 
of  stars  is  shining  in  Louisiana  sunshine.  Sentries  are 
posted  on  the  bridge,  at  intervals  along  the  rail,  and  on 
the  edge  of  yonder  timber  belt,  wherefrom  the  Chicka- 
houla  road  debouches  on  these  Tigerville  plantations.  A 
hundred  of  my  men  are  at  skirmish  drill,  between  this 
mound  base  and  the  road,  and  I  hear  the  ring  of  Captain 
Cutter's  orders — "Rally  by  fours!  Take  intervals!"  No 
other  sound  disturbs  the  heavy  stillness  of  a  sultry  day. 
All  things  seem  as  sluggish  as  the  bayou,  covered  with 
its  green  slime  of  vegetation.  Planter  K —  nods  in  his 
arm-chair  on  a  balcony  of  the  dwelling-house  just  under- 
neath me,  and  planter  K — 's  score  of  black-skinned  field- 
hands  are  bending  backs  in  surrounding  sugar  furrows, 
while  a  yellow  "mistress  of  his  halls  and  heart"  sits  in 
the  porch  shade,  gorgeously  arrayed  in  gown  of  red  and 
saffron  turban.  This  favorite  queens  it  shrewdly  over 
old  man  K — ,  so  gossip  prates ;  and  our  soldier  boys, 
who  often  witness  loud  "intestine  broils1'  between  these 
"high  contracting  partners,"  are  accustomed  to  make  com- 
ments far  more  apt  than  elegant.  This  planter's  human 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  89 

chattels  had  their  private  revolution  only  a  few  months 
since,  when  Weitzel  marched  through  Tigerville.  Some 
glimmer  of  "northern  light"  had  penetrated  that  osseus 
opacity  which  Pritchard  builds  about  the  negro  pia  mater; 
and  these  rogues  began  to  preach,  in  their  rude  way,  the 
democratic  heresy  that  "all  men  are,  and  of  right  ought 
to  be,  free  and  independent.1*  The  apparition  of  Yankee 
bayonets  in  Lafourche  and  Terrebonne  soon  brought  about 
a  "strike,"  and  presently  a  "compromise,"  whereby  wool- 
ly-headed Labor  made  pact  with  panic-stricken  Ownership, 
agreeing  to  serve  as  formerly,  on  promise  of  a  fractional 
share  in  the  proceeds  of  the  crop.  It  was  a  bold  experi- 
ment on  the  part  of  negro  proletarians ;  but  I  dare  pro- 
phesy that  "masterism"  will  gladly  compromise  with 
"chattelism"  whenever  challenged  in  a  similar  spirit. 
Shut  up  these  vassals  and  their  lords  together  in  a  popu- 
lous slave  district,  and  let  "non-intervention1'  be  pro- 
claimed by  all  the  outside  world,  and  I  venture  to  pre- 
dict that  Ownership  will  soon  "negotiate"  for  its  very  to- 
leration on  the  soil.  Black  diplomacy,  supported  by 
black  courage,  and  enlightened  by  contact  with  bayonets 
that  have  learned  to  think,  might  settle  all  "labor  con- 
tracts" on  a  sounder  basis  than  our  General's  conciliation 
scheme.  Nevertheless,  I  fear,  under  present  auspices, 
that  "ole  man  K — "  will  get  the  whip-handle  in  his  grasp 
again,  unless  timely  measures,  such  as  strong-handed 
Butler  knew  how  to  inaugurate,  shall  once  more  dominate 
the  labor  question.  Here  comes  to  me  Lucy,  one-armed 
"griffe"  girl,  with  dismal  story  of  a  night's  experience. 

"Ole  mauss'  tole  me  to  mind  de  birds  in  de  corn-field, 
'kase  he  sez  he  got  no  use  for  me  in  de  house.  Den  ole 
mauss'  lick  me,  'kase  I  isn't  able  to  hoi'  de  hoe  wi'  dis 
yer  lef  arm.  Den  I  hollered,  an'  old  mauss'  done  put  me 
in  de  'tocks  all  las'  night." 


90  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

"How  did  you  lose  your  arm,  Lucy  ?" 

"Done  broke  dis  yer  arm  in  de  mill,  sah.  Ole  mauss' 
hired  me  out  yer  to  wu'k,  an'  de  bones  was  all  done 
mashed  in  de  'sheenry.  Den  ole  mauss'  got  tousan'  dol- 
lar damage  fur  dis  yer  arm  I  done  lost  off.  After  dat 
he  cuss  me,  an'  sez  I  aint  wuff  nuffin'  no  more,  'cept  to 
mind  de  birds  in  de  corn." 

"Well,  Lucy,  it  is  not  hard  work  to  watch  the  birds. 
You  can  do  that,  certainly." 

"Ole  mauss'  druv  me  out  in  de  rain,  an'  tole  me  hoe 
corn,  or  I  gits  nuffin'  to  eat;  an*  den  I  try  to  hoi'  de  hoe- 
handle  in  dis  yer  arm,  an'  de  hoe  done  slip  down.  Ole 
mauss'  seed  it  dar,  an'  he  cuss  me  for  foolin',  an'  lick  me 
till  de  blood  run ;  and  I  done  got  de  rheumatiz,  sah,  'kase 
de  rain  come  down  on  de  'tocks." 

"But  your  master  has  no  right  to  put  you  in  the  stocks, 
Lucy." 

"Ole  mauss'  carpenter,  Joe,  done  fixed  up  de  'tocks. 
He  sawed,  'em  out  ob  gum  plank." 

"Well,  Lucy,  go  back  and  tell  your  master  that  I  say 
he  must  let  you  alone.  He  must  neither  flog  you  nor 
put  you  in  the  stocks.  And  you,  Lucy,  must  mind  the 

birds  as  well  as  you  can.  Sergeant  D ,  go  with  this 

woman,  and  say  to  Mr.  K that  I  allow  no  stocks  or 

whipping-po  sts . ' ' 

Sergeant  D takes  the  "griffe"  in  charge,  conveying 

her,  with  my  message,  to  planter  K ;  whereat  that 

Southern  patriarch  waxes  warm,  and  denies  that  stocks 
have  been  erected  on  his  place.  As  for  whipping,  he 
claims  to  hold  authority  from  a  provost-marshal,  to  flog 
his  slaves  whenever  they  are  refractory,  and  threatens  to 
appeal  to  this  high  official  for  an  endorsement  of  his 
right.  So  reports  Sergeant  D : 

"Mr.  K says  that  the  Provost  Marshal  has  autho- 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  91 

rized  him  to  chastise  his  slaves,  and  if  they  venture  to 
resist,  to  send  for  him,  and  he  will  see  it  done." 

"And  you  found  no  stocks  on  the  grounds,  Sergeant?" 

"Old  man  K denied  they  were  there,  sir;  but  I 

looked  around  and  found  the  institution." 

"Report  that  fact  to  the  officer  of  the  day,  Sergeant." 

"If  you  please,  sir "   Sergeant  D ,  formerly  a 

lawyer,  and  always  the  gentleman  in  his  manners,  makes 
a  military  salute,  and  looks  at  me  with  a  smile. 

"Well,  sir." 

"Thought  it  would  save  trouble,  sir;  cut  the  stocks 
down,  myself." 

A  humorous  eye-twinkle  accompanies  this  speech  of 
the  non-commissioned  officer.  I  compress  my  lips.  "You 
exceeded  your  orders,  Sergeant,"  I  remark.  "Report 
what  you  have  done  to  the  officer  of  the  day." 

Sergeant  D goes  out,  with  no  very  deep  conscious- 
ness of  having  ofiended  his  commander  through  stock 
operations.  Stout  fellow!  the  present  is  not  his  first 
iconoclastic  experiment  with  Southern  idols  and  fetiches; 
for  his  New  England  hatred  of  oppression  has  more  than 
once  made  him  the  champion  pf  maltreated  humanity  in 
our  camp  neighborhoods. 

My  orderly  now  reports  himself  at  the  rear,  presenting 
a  newly-arrived  fugitive  from  "service  or  labor."  It  is 
a  fine-looking  type  of  the  field  slave — sable-hued,  stalwart, 
and  full-eyed.  His  arm  hangs  in  a  sling,  and  his  broad, 
naked  breast  and  massive  throat,  his  sable  torso  gleaming 
under  a  tattered  shirt,  are  models  of  statuesque  contour. 
There  is  something  of  self-reliant  energy  in  the  aspect  of 
this  man ;  in  the  curved  upper  lip  and  steady  eye ;  in  the 
firm  though  respectful  repose  of  his  attitude. 

"Colonel,"  says  my  orderly,  "this  poor  fellow  ran  away 


92  TWENTY   MONTHS   IN    THE 

from  his  old  man,  and  got  a  ball  put  through  the  shoulder. 
He  stopped  at  Lafourche  hospital,  and  Dr.  Willetts  took 
the  lead  out.  I've  given  him  some  old  clothes  of  mine, 
and  if  you've  no  objection,  he  can  help  around  the  stable, 
sir." 

"What  is  your  name,  my  boy?"  I  inquire  of  the  "con- 
traband." 

"Toussaint,  sah,"  replies  the  black,  with  a  French 
accent. 

Toussaint!  The  name  recalls  a  chronicle  of  the  man's 
race — a  history  whereof,  haply,  this  poor  fugitive  is  utterly 
ignorant,  but  which  dwells  in  books  and  traditions  among 
the  records  of  heroism  and  endurance.  My  thoughts 
traverse  the  tropic  waves  between  these  green  bayous 
and  Cape  Francais,  to  rest  for  a  moment  on  that  wonder- 
ful slave  who  made  himself  the  leader  of  three  hundred 
thousand  liberated  bondmen;  that  brave  negro,  of  whom 
his  Spanish  opponent,  the  Marquis  d'Hermona  said:  "If 
an  angel  descended  on  earth  he  could  not  inhabit  a  heart 
apparently  more  good  than  that  of  Toussaint  L'Ouver- 
ture !"  Here,  before  me,  is  another  Toussaint,  courageous 
and  intelligent,  strong  and  patient,  who  might  ask  only 
favorable  surroundings  to  become,  likewise,  a  chief  of  his 
enfranchised  comrades.  There  is  manifest  material  in 
this  sable  man  before  me  to  constitute  a  hero,  give  him 
but  heroic  opportunity. 

I  subsequently  discover  that  my  Louisiana  Toussaint 
is  already  a  hero,  in  his  way.  Slave  of  an  arbitrary 
master,  whose  tyrannic  behests  were  cruelly  seconded  by 
a  brutal  overseer,  this  negro  has  suffered  many  stripes 
and  tortures,  for  espousing  the  cause  of  fellow -chattels 
feebler  than  himself.  He  has  dared  to  defy  oppression 
and  brave  suffering,  from  the  promptings  of  as  generous 
a  spirit  as  that  which  nerved  his  namesake  in  the  Hay- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GU£F.  93 

tien  isle.  Defending  his  fellow  blacks,  he  incurred  the 
fear  and  hatred  of  those  who  held  his  life  and  limbs  at 
their  mercy.  After  years  of  endurance,  he  fled  to  the 
swamp.  Abandoning  his  wild  life  there,  because  a 
woman  whom  he  loved  remained  in  bondage,  he  returned 
to  his  master's  estate,  on  the  promise  of  "amnesty  for  the 
past."  The  promise  was  only  kept  till  a  fitting  moment 
appeared  for  breaking  it.  The  black  was  ordered  to  per- 
form some,  impossible  task,  and  refused.  Again  the  over- 
seer's lash  menaced  him;  but  Toussaint's  manhood  re- 
volted once  more.  He  grappled  with  the  white  man,  and 
flung  him  to  the  ground,  whence  he  rose  foaming  with 
rage.  At  this  juncture,  the  master  galloped  up,  and,  with 
furious  imprecations,  ordered  the  overseer  to  scourge  his 
rebellious  chattel. 

"Don't  come  nigh  me!"  said  Toussaint,  quietly,  his 
black  eyes  kindling  with  deep  resolve. 

"Knock  him  down!  brain  him!"  was  the  owner's 
savage  command  to  the  overseer ;  who,  whirling  his  heavy 
whip,  merciless  as  an  ox-goad,  sprang  forward  to  execute 
vengeance. 

Toussaint  was  ready,  and  met  his  enemy  with  a  blow 
that  stretched  him  again  upon  the  earth  at  the  foot  of  the 
master,  and  in  presence  of  half  a  hundred  field  hands  at 
work  around  them.  Such  an  outrage  would  have  invoked 
death  upon  the  perpetrator  on  any  plantation.  The  owner 
drew  his  revolver,  and  spurred  his  horse  forward,  to  make 
an  end  of  the  slave  at  once.  Toussaint  awaited  the  bound, 
seized  his  master's  steed  by  the  head,  and,  with  main 
strength,  forced  him  up,  and  back,  throwing  horse  and 
rider  together,  beside  the  prostrate  overseer.  The  white 
man  had  only  time  to  fire  a  single  shot,  but  that  had 
struck  the  slave,  lodging  in  his  shoulder.  Toussaint  felt 
himself  wounded,  and  broke  for  the  woods  which  skirted 


94  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

the  plantation.  His  master,  extricating  himself  from  the 
stirrups,  discharged  the  remaining  barrels  of  his  revolver 
after  the  fugitive,  but  without  effect.  Toussaint  gained 
the  swamp. 

All  that  day,  and  far  into  the  night,  white  men,  with 
horses  and  dogs,  were  summoned  from  neighboring  estates, 
to  hunt  the  runaway  negro.  But  Toussaint,  wounded  as 
he  was,  contrived  to  distance  or  baffle  pursuit,  and  ten 
days  afterward  reported  himself  at  the  quarters  of  our 
surgeon,  near  Lafourche  Crossing.  He  had  heard  of  the 
regiment,  and  inquired  for  its  commander.  He  .asked 
for  nothing,  but  to  have  the  bullet  extracted  from  his 
arm,  which  was  soon  done  by  our  skilful  surgeon.  Then, 
declining  repose,  he  took  a  few  morsels  of  food  and  set 
out  on  a  fifteen  mile  march  to  my  camp  at  Tigerville. 

"What  do  you  want  to  do  now,  Toussaint?'' 

"Anything  you  have  to  do,  sah,  till  my  arm's  done 
cured ;  after  that,  work  or  fight,  jes'  as  you  say,  sah  !" 

I  reflect,  as  I  look  upon  this  determined  fellow,  with 
his  massive  frame,  his  alert  manner,  that  a  thousand  such 
fighting  men  would  not  disgrace  good  leadership.  For 
the  present  there  is  no  fighting  to  be  done  by  blacks ;  so 
I  turn  Toussaint  over  to  the  charge  of  his  friend,  my  or- 
derly. An  hour  afterwards,  I  see  him  swinging  a  heavy 
bucket  of  water  with  his  unhurt  arm,  while  the  other 
hangs  in  its  sling.  Again  I  see  him  currying  a  horse,  or 
carrying  fuel  to  the  mess-room.  "Toussaint,"  I  remark 
to  him,  "you  must  let  your  wound  get  well.  You  must 
rest !" 

"Thank  you,  sah !  but  I  reck'n  it'll  git  along,  sah !  I'd 
rather  wu'k,  sah,  if  you  please,  sah  !" 

I  do  not  know  many  white  soldiers  who  would  not 
prefer  a  furlough  under  Toussaint's  circumstances.  Very 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  95 

few,  certainly,  would  report  for  fatigue  duty,  with  a  bullet 
hole  through  the  shoulder. 

Toussaint,  black  as  a  Nubian,  was  blessed  in  a  wife, 
who  might  have  been  a  queen  of  the  Amazons.  Of  ma-< 
jestic  figure,  with  straight,  glossy  hair,  oriental  eyes,  fea- 
tures regular,  and  complexion  more  Indian  than  Afric, 
the  beloved  of  my  brave  freedman  had  been  a  quadroon 
beauty  in  her  day.  She  might  easily  attract  notice 
among  the  slip-shod  female  followers  of  our  negro  ser- 
vants, and  it  was  not  long  before  I  observed  her,  tete-a- 
tete  with  Toussaint,  on  the  steps  of  the  kitchen  quarters. 
"She  takes  up  with  me,"  was  the  black's  quaint  manner 
of  revealing  their  conjugal  connection,  and  I  congratulated 
Toussaint  upon  his  taste. 

A  tropical-natured  woman  must  this  have  been,  in  her 
day  of  strength  and  comeliness,  upon  a  Louisiana  sugar 
domain.  Her  features,  now  marked  by  the  ridges  of 
smallpox,  her  expressive  eye,  whose  dilating  pupil  and 
tawny  iris  are  rimmed  with  latent  flame,  have,  in  past 
days,  doubtless,  been  eloquent  of  feeling  and  affection,  of 
wrath  and  passion.  She  is  but  a  ruder  type,  however,  of 
a  myriad  of  her  race  and  sex  whose  blood  claims  nearer 
kindred  with  purer  tides;  whose  attractions,  impulses, 
and  aspirations,  were  moulded  to  a  like  fullness  with 
those  of  the  blue-veined  dames  who  bought  and  sold  such 
beings  as  mere  chattels.  This  wife  of  Toussaint  is  but 
one  of  a  hundred  thousand,  perhaps,  whose  lineaments 
assimilate  with  Caucasian  traits,  but  whose  unhappy 
destiny  has  precluded  all  other  claim  to  Caucasian  sym- 
pathy than  that  which  is  founded  on  the  transmission  of 
their  own  vices  with  those  of  their  masters,  to  offspring 
as  unhappy  as  themselves. 

The  mother  of  this  quadroon  was  the  favorite  of  her 
mastor,  and  the  mother  of  several  of  his  children.  This 


96  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

wife  of  my  freedman  has  kindred  white  as  any  Creole 
lady  in  Lafourche ;  a  sister,  yet  a  child,  beautiful  and  a 
slave,  who  endures  the  torture  of  her  servile  life  and  the 
imminence  of  that  fate  which  has  befallen  all  her  sisters, 
rather  than  leave  her  mother,  who  yet  clings  with  strange 
affection  to  her  master's  fortunes.  This  mother,  once  in 
her  anomalous  life,  was  nursing  a  child  at  her  breast,  the 
offspring  of  her  owner,  when  that  owner's  lawful  wife  be- 
came a  mother  likewise.  The  fragile  mistress  either 
could  not  or  would  not  give  her  infant  nourishment,  and 
the  master  called  upon  his  slave  to  take  the  mother's 
place.  He  took  her  own  child  from  the  wretched  woman, 
locked  it  in  another  room,  and  went  his  way.  The  slave- 
mother-was  forced  to  suckle  the  babe  of  her  mistress, 
with  the  cries  of  her  own  neglected  one  ringing  in  her 
ears,  and  she  unable  to  reach  or  rescue  it.  Half  dis- 
tracted, she  implored  the  master  to  permit  her  to  have 
her  own  child;  but  the  inhuman  white  man  laughed,  and 
told  her  that  the  "brat  might  die  ,  he  could  afford  to  lose 
it !"  The  little  starveling's  cries  grew  weaker  till  they 
ceased  in  death.  The  slave-mother  suckled  her  master's 
white  child,  while  her  own  perished  with  hunger. 

Does  this  story  seem  improbable  ?  I  have  been  con- 
vinced of  the  truth  of  more  unnatural  deeds  perpetrated 
on  the  unoffending  and  helpless.  The  wife  of  Toussaint, 
and  sister  of  the  murdered  negro  babe,  is  now  at  the 
north,  and  can  tell  of  darker  doings  on  that  plantation 
where  her  youth  was  passed. 

Not  she  alone,  but  others,  witnessed  the  murder  of  a 
young  mulatto  boy,  for  his  refusal  to  be  witness  to  a 
sister's  wrongs  in  the  house  of  his  master.  The  youth, 
who  was  a  house-boy,  fled  to  the  plantation,  and  asked  to 
be  permitted  to  perform  the  hard  labors  of  a  field  hand. 
His  master  remanded  him  to  the  mansion,  whence  he 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  97 

again  eloped,  to  take  his  place  among  the  negro  gangs. 
Then  his  owner  tied  him  by  the  wrists  to  a  tree,  and 
flogged  him,  till  his  flesh  hung  in  rags — till  his  limbs 
were  marked  with  one  continuous  bloody  weal — till  fatal 
wounds  had  been  inflicted  on  the  most  delicate  organs 
of  his  body — and  the  boy  fainted  from  pain  and  loss  of 
blood.  He  was  conveyed  to  his  pallet,  never  to  rise 
again.  He  lingered  till  the  next  morning,  when  his 
master  approached,  and  professed  to  be  repentant  for 
having  so  cruelly  abused  him.  "Massa,"  murmured  the 
dying  slave,  "I  forgives  you;  but  I'se  feared  you  is  too 
wicked  for  God  ebber  to  forgive  you  I" 


98  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER   IX. 

BERWICK    BAY. 

LONG  before  break  of  day,  one  sultry  morning  in  May, 
I  am  awakened  to  receive  a  special  order  from  Brashear 
City.  The  commandant  of  that  post  sends  word  that  he 
expects  the  rebels ;  I  am  invoked  to  march  with  rein- 
forcements— all  that  can  be  mustered ;  to  take  cars  at 
once.  A  train  of  contrabands  and  cattle,  from  the  Teche, 
in  charge  of  Colonel  Chickering,  is  threatened  by  a  force 
of  Texans,  Arizonian  Indians,  Louisianian  guerillas ;  four 
thousand  strong,  the  bruit  goes.  Subsequently,  I  lose 
this  special  order,  with  plundered  papers  generally;  or  it 
might  now  recall,  in  print,  the  precious  panic  which  in- 
spired it. 

Col.  Nott,  who  has  been  during,  many  weeks  lying  ill 
of  fever,  remains  at  my  quarters,  an  invalid,  attended 
by  nurse  and  surgeon.  I  take  my  leave  of  him ;  and, 
having  mustered  our  effectives,  some  five  hundred  men, 
all  full  of  spirits  at  the  prospect  of  field-service,  we  set 
out  cheerily.  At  ten  o'clock  A.  M. — after  taking  up  de- 
tachments on  the  road,  we  reach  Brashear  City,  and  I 
report  to  the  commandant.  Awaiting  orders,  I  learn  that 
a  messenger  from  Col.  Chickering  has  arrived;  that  his 
train  is  safe ;  that  no  immediate  attack  of  rebels  is  to  be 
apprehended.  So,  presently,  instead  of  encountering 
enemies,  I  find  myself  invited  to  meet  friends,  at  Col. 
Walker's  headquarters,  where  an  ample  dinner  tempts 
and  satisfies  our  destructive  appetites.  Thereafter,  taking 


DEPAKTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  99 

riddle,  I  cross  the  Bay  in  a  ferry  steamboat,  to  see  the 
cattle  and  contraband  train,  last  instalment  of  spoils, 
resultant  from  raid  of  General  Banks  through  the  Teche 
country,  on  his  way  to  Port  Hudson  campaigning.  I  land 
on  the  shore  of  Berwick  City.  Here  be  materials  for  a 
Hogarth;  life,  action,  incongruity;  a  panorama,  a  kalei- 
doscope of  curious  shapes  and  varied  hues.  Two  thousand 
beeves,  involved  in  sinuous  labyrinth ;  crowding,  leaping, 
rushing  hither  and  thither,  their  horny  fronts  now  lifted 
now  depressed,  their  ceaseless  roaring  sounding  like  the 
wind-lashed  sea  on  a  lee  shore :  three  thousand  mules, 
rampant,  venting  hideous  screeches;  plunging,  rearing, 
flinging  out  heels  like  battering  rams :  a  thousand  wagons 
in  coil  that  seems  inextricable,  be-ridden  by  a  thousand 
teamsters  in  a  thousand  rages :  a  din  of  lowings,  bellow- 
ing, brayings,  threats  and  maledictions :  a  Gordian  knot 
of  brutes  and  brutish  bipeds,  bristling  bayonets,  brand- 
ished whips,  artillery  mud-locked,  cavalry  cart-crushed; 
and,  in  the  whirl  of  all,  in  the  way  of  all,  overtramped, 
and  driven  and  cursed  by  all — the  NEGRO! 

A  spectacle  for  the  ethnologist,  a  problem  for  the 
statesman,  a  theorem  for  the  Christian:  six  thousand 
curly -headed,  dusky-skinned,  immortal-souled  humanities ! 
I  know  not  what  ganglionic  difference  there  may  be 
between  this  crisp-wooled  poll  before  me  and  my  own 
straight-haired  cerebrum ;  I  care  not  to  investigate  the 
mysteries  which  Nature  hides  in  seed  and  generation; 
I  only  see  six  thousand  men,  women  and  children,  lying 
in  mire  and  dust,  after  their  weary  marches ;  men,  giant- 
thewed,  with  brawn  like  steel ;  mothers,  giving  suck  from 
sound  breasts;  light-hearted,  bright-eyed  youths  and 
docile  children;  resting  here  by  the  waters  of  Atchafalaya* 
as  another  enfranchised  slave-race  rested,  forty  centuries 


100  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

ago,  on  Jordan's  banks,  after  Exodus  from  Darkness  and 
Bondage. 

They  are  black,  these  people — these  humanities;  but 
the  horse  I  bestride  is  likewise  black,  and  I  see,  not  far 
from  me,  a  score  of  lusty  oxen  sable-skinned.  I  do  not 
remark  the  instincts  of  white  ox  or  white  horse  pitting 
him  against  his  fellow  of  a  darker  hide.  It  is  left  for 
Man  to  learn  those  loftier  prejudices  which  regard  the 
hue  of  his  poor  clay,  ere  it  returns  to  dust.  I  know  not 
what  gradations  of  skin-honor  could  be  enforced  in  a 
world's  congress  of  ambassadors  from  every  human  claii. 
The  etiquette  of  cuticular  priority,  with  Anglo-Saxon 
pigment  for  its  high-color  mark,  might  not  be  tolerated,  I 
think,  by  a  large  majority  of  tribal  representatives ! 

Here,  now,  six  thousand  integers  of  that  great  sun- 
scorched  race  which  multiplies  in  African  tropics,  are 
cast  up,  by  a  tidal  wave  of  war,  upon  this  jutting  pro- 
montory of  Freedom.  They  lie,  helpless  and  imploring, 
on  the  strand  of  an  enlightened  Civilization.  And  by 
other  war-billows,  on  other  sands  and  reaches  of  Liberty, 
uncounted  multitudes,  besides  these  thousands,  find 
themselves  this  day  flung  up  before  the  face  of  Man, 
and  in  the  sight  of  God,  to  challenge  a  superior  race 
which  has,  until  now,  ignored  their  kindred.  Vain  is 
sophistry  against  the  argumentum  ad  verecundiam  of 
these  mutely-eloquent  waifs  of  Rebellion,  appealing  to 
our  large-heartedness,  our  great-mindedness,  as  a  nation 
and  a  people.  Unenviable  casuist  is  he  who,  in  the  light 
of  that  dread  hand-writing  which  is  now  declaring  the 
doom  of  Southern  oppression,  shall  attempt  to  cheat  his. 
conscience  with  the  cry  of  Cain — "Am  I  my  brother's 
keeper?"  The  question  of  the  day  and  generation  must 
be  grappled  with,  or  woe  to  posterity!  That  question 
pleads  for  solution  in  the  myriad  anxious  eyes  peering 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  101 

up  to  us  out  of  ignorance  and  slavery,  but  not  less  does 

it  plead,  could  we  but  recognize  it,  in  the  glorified  regards. 

of  heroes  and  martyrs,  who  look  back  from  heaven  to  the  x 

Freedom  for  which  they  suffered. 

These  children  of  the  fetter,  newborn  from  the  throes 
of  a  mighty  Revolution,  are  children  indeed,  upon  the 
threshhold  of  a  new  existence.  "  The  world  is  all  before 
them  !n  They  are  hardly  recovered  yet,  from  the  intoxica- 
tion of  their  first  sweet  draught  of  freedom.  The  future 
in  their  eyes  is  rose-colored.  There  is  a  degree  of  novel 
pleasure  for  them  even  in  the  jeers  and  blows  of  brutal 
teamsters,  who  must  have  a  customary  vulgar  fling  at 
"niggers,"  as  they  pass.  That  bright,  wonderful  presence, 
LIBERTY,  is  all  around  them ;  and  in  their  rude  joy  of  her, 
they  seem  to  "walk  on  thrones.'1  Poor  children!  manly- 
limbed  and  strength-endued,  but  very  infants  in  experience 
of  life  !. . .  I  would  to  God,  that  some  great,  loving  Heart 
could  be  intrusted  with  your  destiny ;  that  some  wide 
Intellect  could  inform  the  sympathies  of  our  nation  with 
your  few  wants  and  many  capacities !  Heaven,  I  have 
faith  to  believe,  will,  in  its  own  good  season,  raise  up 
the  merciful  Avenger  of  your  history.  Happy  our  Re- 
public, if  its  Rulers  shall  appreciate,  in  time,  the  mutual 
need  of  Black  and  White,  to  recognize  a  kindred  of  in- 
terests in  our  National  Future ! 

The  coil  of  men  and  brutes,  of  soldiers  and  freedmen, 
of  war-munitions  and  transportation-means,  at  length 
evolves  its  meshes,  and  Col.  Chickering  reports  his  con- 
voy from  the  Teche  country.  Thereafter,  I  am  ordered 
to  cross  the  Bay,  with  my  battalion,  and  march  to  a  point  ' 
opposite  the  upper  extremity  of  Brashear  City,  protected 
by  the  guns  of  Fort  Buchanan.  Nightfall  finds  us  en- 
camped on  spacious  grounds  belonging  to  Dr.  R ,  an 

Englishman,  who  has  lived  here  as  a  planter  many  years, 


102          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

and  professes  neutrality,  as  between  the  North  and  South. 
He  occupies  a  handsome  dwelling-house  on  the  bay  shore. 
His  well -fenced  lands  and  substantial  sugar-works  give 
evidence  of  wealth  and  thrift.  Greeting  us  with  friendly 
salutation  in  the  twilight,  he  tenders  bountiful  store  of 
sweet  potatoes  to  the  hungry.  I  ride  out,  to  inspect  the 
vicinage,  make  points  of  observation,  set  guards  and 
pickets,  get  a  personal  lodgment  and  staff-quarters,  and 
thus  establish  an  out-post  for  Brashear  City. 

Next  day,  receiving  an  order  as  commander  of  the 
176th  Regiment  of  New  York  Volunteers,  to  relieve  the 
commandant  of  Brashear  City,  I  present  the  papers  to 
Colonel  Walker,  who  is,  by  the  same  despatch,  directed 
to  report  with  his  regiment  at  Port  Hudson.  Shortly 
afterward,  the  senior  officer  of  troops  upon  the  railroad, 
Colonel  Holmes,  arrives  at  Brashear  City,  from  Lafourche. 
His  regiment  and  commission  entitle  him  .to  priority  of 
post  command,  and  I  report  to  him  as  superior  officer,  in 
pursuance  of  supplementary  orders  from  New  Orleans. 

Day  by  day,  now,  the  shores  of  Berwick  Bay  become 
gradually  relieved  of  their  entangled  lines,  animal  and 
vegetable.  Contrabands  and  cotton-bales  are  hurried  off 
upon  railway -flats.  Shrewd  cattle-brokers,  after  swarm- 
ing about  the  quarter-master's  doors,  drive  off  their  bar- 
gains of  beeves.  Mules  are  trotted  away  to  army  markets 
or  plantations.  Carts,  chaises,  family  coaches,  saddles, 
harnesses,  debris  of  Attakapas  "confiscation",  are  invoic- 
ed, via  rail,  to  New  Orleans  auction  blocks.  The  bay-side 
hospitals,  where  sick  and  wounded  soldiers  have  been 
'  quur*ered>  giye  UP»  day  ky  day,  their  convalescent  occu- 
pants. At  length,  comparative  quiet  reigns  upon  the 
Berwick  C^J  water-front.  Ferry  boats  make  less  fre- 
quent crossing8-  A  few  stragglers  only  linger  daily  upon 
the  strand,  wherb  we  encountered,  a  week  ago,  such 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  103 

troops  of  black  and  white.  As  I  ride  now,  from  the 
ferry-landing  to  camp,  along  a  mile  of  road,  with  scattered 
houses,  mostly  vacant,  on  one  side,  I  seldom  meet  a 
wayfarer.  Yet  some  of  the  abandoned  buildings  were 
abodes  of  ease  and  elegance  two  years  ago.  Below  our 
guarded  lines  resides  a  brother  of  my  friends,  the  L— — s 
of  New  York ;  in  whose  interesting  family  are  two  deaf 

mutes,  intelligent  and  amiable  children.     Dr.  R 's 

household  is  likewise  a  refined  and  agreeable  one.  These 
resident  owners  have  had  opportunities  of  comparison 
between  the  rebel  troops  and  ours;  as  all  this  bay-shore 
was  occupied,  until  about  two  months  since,  by  forces  of 
the  enemy.  Surveying  one  another,  vis-a-vis,  from  oppo- 
sing fronts,  of  Brashear  and  Berwick  cities,  the  bel- 
ligerents were  accustomed  to  exchange  artillery  compli- 
ments almost  daily,  and  many  of  the  buildings  hereabout 
bear  marks  of  shot  and  shell. 

Dr.  S sets  plates  for  my  officers  at  his  hospitable 

table,  but  I  content  myself  with  a  single  dejeuner,  and  a 

chat  with  Madame  P ,  well  known  in  former  seasons 

as  a  patroness  of  Newport,  where  she  occupied  a  cottage 
ornee.  Still  handsome  and  stately,  this  widow,  with  an 
ample  fortune  in  sugar  lands  and  their  concomitant  living 
chattels,  dwells  luxuriously  npon  a  romantic  bend  of 
Bayou  Teche,  above  the  town  of  Franklin,  in  St.  Mary's 
parish.  She  professes  staunch  loyalty  to  the  Union,  and 
assures  us  that  her  negroes  were  so  much  attached  to 
her  that  they  voluntarily  returned  to  labor  after  having 
dispersed  to  the  woods  and  swamps,  or  mingled  with  the 
advancing  army  of  General  Banks.  I  could  easily  divine 
that  this  sparkling  lady  might  find  it  for  her  interest  to 
remain  the  chatelaine  of  her  own  castle.  With  affability 
and  tact,  to  say  nothing  of  good  business  knowledge,  as 
her  Amazonian  weaponry,  she  would  be  able,  doubtless, 


104          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

to  keep  her  household  gods  and  goods  inviolate  under 
martial  surveillance  of  both  red  and  white  roses.  Too 
much  a  clever  woman  of  the  world  to  cry  "A  plague  on 
both  your  houses,"  she  might  give  smiles  as  subsidies, 
and  purchase  safeguards  by  soft  words  for  North  and 
South  alike.  Much  easier  is  this,  and  far  more  politic, 
than  the  usual  abandonment  of  house  and  lands  to  "tender 
mercies"  of  remorseless  confiscation  boards. 

It  was  on  the  simple  negro  servants  of  pleasant  Madame 

P that  sundry  graceless  scamps  of  our  "grand  army" 

played  divers  pranks  of  knavery.  Our  forces  bivouacked 
near  her  lands,  in  passing  up  the  Teche ;  and,  shortly  after 
they  had  marched  away,  the  lady  one  day  noticed  that  her 
sable  handmaids  were  busied  with  great  washing  of  gar- 
ments and  bleaching  of  cotton  and  fine  linen  to  unwonted 
snowiness.  Lawns  were  bestrewn  with  lawn;  every  bush 
had  a  rag  on  it;  the  hedgerows  were  festooned  with  all 
fibrous  particles  of  apparel  that  could  be  whitened  by  the 
power  of  alkalies.  From  morn  to  night  the  blacks  were 
in  hot  water  at  wash-tubs.  Kitchen  tables  smoked  with 
heaps  of  unmentionable  articles,  glossy  under  calender 
and  smoothing-iron.  What  could  this  sudden  storm  of 
cleanliness  import?  The  mistress  marvelled,  and  a  con- 
fidential tire-woman  at  length  enlightened  her. 

"You  see,  missy,  we's  gwine  to  hab  our  white  robes  all 
ready  when  de  messenger  come." 

"Who  is  the  messenger,  Lucille,   and  why  must  you 

have  white  robes  ready?"  queried  Madame  P ,   with 

I  know  not  how  many  visions  of  Millerite   preparations 
suggested  to  her  fancy. 

"Why,  missy,  dar  am  a  high  ossifer  gwine  to  come  yer 
to  Tuckapaw,  from  Massa  Abe  Linkum  hissef,  missy. 
He'ni  gwine  to  write  de  cullud  people  in  de  great  book." 

"What  nonsense  are  you  telling  me,  Lucille  ?" 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  105 

"It  am  rale  troo,  missy;  no  mistake  dis  yer  time. 
We's  all  done  got  de  stiff-cats." 

"Got  what,  Lucille?" 

"  Got  de  stiff-cats,  missy,  wid  Massa  Linkum's  picter 
ob  hisself  on  dem.  We's  shore  to  git  de  goold  an'  silber 
back,  when  de  high  ossifer  done  come  to  Tuckapaw." 

"  Gold  and  silver  back !   What  do  you  mean,  Lucille  ?" 

"0,  missy,  you  know  we's  done  'mancipate  dis  yer 
minit,  but  we  isn't  gwine  to  leabe  Tuckapaw.  We  is  pre- 
fer to  stay  wid  our  kind  missy." 

"  Well,  tell  me  about  the  gold  and  silver,  and  why 
you  are  washing  all  these  clothes,  child." 

"  'Kase  it  am  ordered  to  be,  missy.  We's  to  gwo  all 
'rayed  in  white  robes,  like  de  lambs,  an'  'tan'  all  togeder 
out  yer  by  de  bayou.  Sartin  shore,  missy,  de  high 
ossifer  am  gwine  to  come  up  in  de  biggest  ribber  boat, 
wid  all  de  flags  fly  in',  and  we  is  to  holler  out  rite  smart 
for  de  Unum " 

"  And  the  gold  and  silver,  Lucille  ?" 

"  0,  we's  gwine  to  hab  all  de  goold  an'  silber  done  paid 
back  agin,  and  ebery  cullud  pusson  am  to  git  a  house  an' 
garden,  and  dar  'm  not  gwine  to  be  no  more  workin'  fur 
oberseers,  only  jes'  fur  reg'lar  wages — M 

"  Indeed !  But  what  do  you  mean  by  getting  your 
gold  and  silver  back,  child  ?" 

"  Lor*  sakes,  missy,  I  isn't  tole  you  'bout  dat  yit;  an'  I 
declar'  I  isn't  done  showed  you  de  Linkum  stiff-cat." 

"  No,  indeed,  you  have  not,  Lucille." 

"  Dar,  m'm,  de  stiff-cat.  De  Linkum  sogers  gib  us  all 
one,  'fore  dey  done  marched  away." 

Saying  this,  the  maiden  drew  from  her  dusky  bosom  a 
scrap  of  paper.  It  was  creased  and  discolored,  but 
Madame  P contrived  to  decipher  the  printed  con- 
tents. It  was  simply  a  square  of  pictured  tissue  paper, 


106         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

bearing  a  lithographed  head  in  one  corner,  and  a  soap- 
maker's  advertisement  following — in  fact,  the  common 
imitation  of  a  bank  certificate,  which  we  often  see  pasted 
on  the  lid  of  a  fancy  soap  box  or  at  the  end  of  a  match 


'•  Dat  yer's  de  rale  picter  of  Massa  Abe  Linkum,"  cried 
Lucille,  with  dancing  eyes.  "  De  sogers  done  gib  us  all 
stiff-cats  like  dat  yer." 

"  And  you  gave  the  soldiers  your  money  for  this,  Lu- 
cille?" queried  Madame  P . 

"  Sartin,  missy.  De  sogers  done  tell  us  dat  Massa 
Linkum  want  to  borry  all  de  goold  an'  silber  in  Tuckapaw, 
jes'  for  three  mont's,  till  de  high  ossifer  done  come  up 
de  bayou.  Den,  Lor  bress  you's  dear  heart,  missy,  we  is 
gwine  to  hab  all  our  names  took  down  in  de  book  for 
Massa  Linkum,  an'  we  is  gwine  to  be  'clar'd  'mancipate 
for  ebber  an'  ebber.  Den  we's  git  back  all  de  goold  an' 
silber,  an'  de  high  ossifer — spec'  he  must  be  Massa  Lin- 
kum's  own  chile — he  gibs  all  de  cullud  people  de  houses 
an'  de  gardens — " 

"  Well,  Lucille,  how  much  money  did  you  all  give  to 
the  soldiers  ?" 

"  Done  gib  dem  all  our  sabin's,  missy — all  what  we 
sell  de  chickens  fur,  an'  all  we  done  git  fur  de  moss, 
long  'fore  de  war." 

"Lucille,  you  are  a  great  goose,  and  neither  you  nor 
your  silly  people  will  ever  see  your  money  again." 

"Lor*  bress  you  heart,  missy,  we'se  got  de  stiff-cats!" 

"  Well,  child,  you  have  been  cheated  with  your  pre- 
cious *  stiff-cats,*  as  you  call  them.  I  suppose  Anne  has 
one." 

"  Yes,  missy,  an'  Molly,  an'  Cassy,  an'  Phemy,  an' 
eberybody.  We  is  all  s'kure." 

But  poor  Lucille  learned,  to  her  great  chagrin,  and 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  107 

that  of  "  eberybody,"  among  the  simple-minded  commu- 
nity, that  they  were  all  the  "  victims  of  misplaced  confu 
dence."  Their  white  robes  were  never  called  into  requi- 
sition, and  they  waited  vainly  for  the  advent  of  a  "  high 
ossifer"  with  greetings  from  "Massa  Linkum."  The 
whole  thing  was  a  wicked  swindle  of  the  poor  blacks  by 
some  vagabond  Federal  soldiers,  who  had  succeeded  in 
obtaining  upwards  of  eight  hundred  dollars  in  specie. 

The  outpost  established  by  my  regiment,  on  Berwick 
shore,  was  one  which  should  have  been  maintained  and 
strengthened.  I  here  mounted  a  score  of  my  young  men, 
daring  fellows,  who  delighted  in  scouting  sorties  upon  the 
road  toward  Pattersonville.  These  could  have  been  kept 
always  advanced,  as  vedettes,  and  would  have  been  alert 
to  discover  any  indications  of  hostile  approach.  During 
my  brief  occupation  of  this  position,  several  rebel  scouts 
were  brought  into  camp  as  prisoners,  securing  for  us 
items  of  intelligence  regarding  the  enemy,  which  fore- 
shadowed his  intentions.  But "  coming  events"  were  not 
to  be  averted  through  foresight  or  watchfulness  on  our 
part.  In  a  short  time,  we  received  orders  to  fall  back 
over  the  Bay,  and  pitch  our  tents  at  Brashear. 


108          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER   X. 

BRASHEAR  CITY. 

THE  administration  of  military  affairs  at  Brashear  City, 
during  three  weeks  of  June,  1863,  exhibits,  on  a  small 
scale,  the  ruinous  results  of  neglect  by  superiors  and 
mismanagement  by  subordinates.  Withdrawn  from  the" 
outpost  on  Berwick  City  shore,  my  regiment  is  now 
encamped  at  Brashear,  about  a  quarter-mile  from  the 
rail -road  depot,  and  on  the  shore  between  that  point 
and  Fort  Buchanan.  Behind  us  extends  the  camp  of  the 
Twenty-Third  Connecticut  Volunteers.  On  either  side 
are  other  camps,  occupied  variously  by  cavalry  squads, 
convalescents  representing  every  regiment  in  the  Depart- 
ment, and  straggling  soldiers,  assumed  to  be  detached 
for  all  sorts  of  purposes.  In  round  numbers,  there  are 
probably  a  thousand  privates,  more  or  less  able  to  do  duty, 
who,  unde,r  nominal  supervision  of  surgeons  or  sergeants, 
pass  their  days  in  lounging  and  card-playing,  without  or- 
ganization, drill,  or  duty.  Probably,  a  hundred  camp- 
followers  and  civilians  might  be  added  to  the  number  of 
this  idle  population.  For  defence  of  the  place,  there  are 
six  companies  of  the  One  Hundred  and  Seventy  sixth 
New  York  Infantry,  under  my  command,  as  Lieutenant- 
Colonel;  the  Colonel  being  confined  to  his  quarters  by 
sickness ;  two  companies  of  the  same  regiment,  acting  as 
garrison  of  Fort  Buchanan;  several  companies  of  the 
Twenty-Third  Connecticut  Infantry ;  a  detachment  of  the 
21st  Indiana  Artillery,  commanded  by  Captain  Noblett, 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  109 

and  a  few  squads  of  cavalry  and  infantry,  detailed  for 
provost  duty,  or  in  charge  of  government  property ;  an 
effective  sum  total  of  perhaps  six  hundred  rank  and  file. 
This  is  my  computation  of  the  force,  at  the  time  our  oc- 
cupation of  the  Berwick  shore  is  discontinued.  At  this 
date,  Col.  Walker  has  just  been  relieved  by  Col.  Holmes; 
and  within  a  very  few  days  subsequently,  Col.  Holmes 
being  attacked  by  fever,  the  command  of  Brashear  City 
devolves  on  the  Lieut.  Colonel  of  the  Twenty-Third  Con- 
necticut Volunteers. 

Here  we  begin  to  snuff  a  breeze  of  danger.  Previous 
to  our  recrossing  the  bay,  my  scouts,  as  has  been  mention- 
ed, captured  several  rebel  stragglers,  through  whom  we 
gained  intelligence  of  a  Confederate  force  concentrating 
on  the  Teche.  Now  we  hear  daily  rumors  of  their  pre- 
sence and  increasing  numbers  between  Pattersonville 
and  Franklin.  At  daybreak,  one  morning,  I  receive 
abrupt  orders  to  report  my  regiment  at  the  steamboat 
wharf.  The  boys  jump  into  line  with  alacrity,  and 
"  double-quick"  to  the  spot.  There  I  encounter  the  post 
commandant,  looking  very  perplexed  and  flurried.  He 
orders  a  crossing  to  Berwick  City;  presently  counter- 
mands the  order ;  again  commands  the  regiment  to  em- 
bark ;  finally  directs  a  retreat  to  camp  and  breakfast. 
In  a  few  hours  afterwards,  our  brass  field  pieces  at  the 
depot  begin  to  play  upon  the  Berwick  shore.  Somebody 
has  asserted  that  rebel  cavalry  are  dodging  in  Berwick 
woods.  A  score  of  shells  must  be  sent  over  the  water, 
by  way  of  Yankee  cards. 

The  coming  night  develops  general  nervousness  in 
and  around  post  head-quarters.  Quartermaster  at  the  depot 
sneers  about  pusillanimity.  Officers  in  knots  gossip  con- 
cerning telegrams,  said  to  be  despatched  every  hour  to 
New  Orleans,  asking  for  aid  and  comfort.  Distrust  of 


110  TWENTY   MONTHS   IN    THE 

head-quarters  competence  shows  itself  among  rank  and 
file,  as  well  as  officers. 

Presently,  another  official  panic  sends  us,  at  double- 
quick,  to  the  steamboat  wharf  again.  This  time,  we  cross 
the  ferry.  I  leave  Major  Morgans  at  Berwick  City,  in 
command  of  detachments  from  our  own  and  the  Connecti- 
cut regiment,  and  then,  placing  a  howitzer  on  another 
ferry-boat,  steam  up  the  bay,  and  drop  some  shells  into 
an  old  sugar-house,  to  dislodge  an  imaginary  force  of 
lurking  rebels.  Maj.  Morgans  patiently  holds  his  ground, 
with  a  brass  piece  commanding  the  road,  till  I  reinforce 
him,  after  supper,  with  whiskey  rations  for  our  arid 
troops.  Thereafter,  with  Surgeon  Willets,  very  daring 
and  quite  skeptical  regarding  proximity  of  foemen,  I  ride 
to  the  "front";  gallop  a  couple  of  miles  over  a  moonlit 
road,  outside  the  pickets,  and  return  unscarred  to  the 
ferry.  Infantry  and  artillery  then  get  home  to  camp  again. 

Shortly  after  this  midnight  campaign,  our  lieutenant- 
colonel-in-chief  begs  Gen.  Emory  to  relieve  him  of  that 
military  nightmare  which  oppresses  him  in  the  shape  of 
his  post-command.  Accordingly,  General  Emory,  without 
apparently  troubling  himself  to  inquire  concerning  the  real 
necessities  of  Brashear  City,  deputes  a  Napoleonic  young 
lieutenant-colonel,  who  has  been  doing  display  duty  at 
New  Orleans  during  the  season,  to  take  command  of  our 
beleagured  outpost.  Subsequently,  I  learn  particulars: 
how,  when  a  fortieth  or  fiftieth  telegram  had  reached 
Headquarters  of  the  Defences  of  New  Orleans,  the  Gen- 
eral had  remarked : 

"  This  commandant  at  Brashear  seems  uneasy.  He  is 
determined  to  resign,  and  asks  me  to  send  somebody  to 
relieve  him.  I  know  of  nobody  here." 

This  is  said  in  presence  of  a  young  attache,  lately  pro- 
vost-marshal at  Thibodeaux;  one  Lieutenant  Kingsley; 


DEPABTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  Ill 

who  opportunely  interposes,  with  the  suggestion  :  "Gen- 
eral, here's  Lieut.-Col.  Stickney,  of  my  regiment,  the 
Forty-J^ ^Massachusetts.  He  is  doing  nothing." 

"  Well,  let  Stickney  go  !" 

So  Lieut.-Colonel  Stickney  is  relieved  from  the  duty 
of  attending  public  school  festivals,  in  full  dress,  with 
the  band  of  his  regiment ;  and,  presently,  he  comes  down 
to  assume  command  of  the  Bay  and  its  surroundings. 
Reporting  at  his  quarters,  I  encounter  a  pragmatic  young 
gentleman,  of  apparently  feminine  nerves,  who  starts  at 
the  fall  of  a  book,  entreats  me  to  remain  up  all  night  with 
him,  and  thereupon,  forgetting  the  request,  lies  down  for 
a  nap  on  the  sofa.  Meantime,  he  has  signalized  his  mili- 
tary genius  by  ordering  my  regiment,  under  command 
of  the  major,  to  go  and  keep  guard  at  the  railr.oad  depot 
till  morning. 

A  new  military  broom  now  begins  to  sweep.  Vigilance 
and  discipline  cavort  under  double  check-rein. 

Lieut.-Col.  Stickney  blooms  into  Acting  Brigadier 
Stickney,  and  appoints  our  quondam  provost-marshal 
Kingsley  his  aid-de-camp.  Adjutant  Whiting,  of  Twen- 
ty-Third Connecticut,  rises  to  post-adjutant's  dignity} 
therewith  getting  sleepless  days  and  nights  in  prospect. 
Now  begins  the  reign  of  real  military  excellence  at  last  • 
nine  months  martinetism  on  dress-parade.  Our  post-com- 
mandant becomes  ubiquitous;  riding  on  a  black  steed  to 
my  tent,  at  tattoo,  to  order  the  extinguishing  of  a  lantern, 
lest  rebels  at  Berwick  City  should  take  it  for  a  target; 
gallopping  on  a  white  courser  to  the  fort,  with  orders  for 
the  gunners  to  look  well  to  their  pieces.  Post-orders 
indeed  multiply  hourly.  Now,  a  squad  of  twelve  men 
must  report  at  head-quarters;  now  a  company;  now  a 
lieutenant  and  twenty;  presently  the  regiment  is  sum- 
moned to  duty.  I  am  directed  to  have  a  drum  at  my 


112          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

pillow,  for  instant  beating  of  the  long  roll ;  to  cause  the 
men  to  keep  awake  all  night ;  to  make  them  "  sleep  on 
their  arms."  No  light  must  appear  in  camp;  no  gun 
be  discharged,  however  foul.  My  men  are  "exercised" 
day  and  night ;  marching  to  railroad  depots,  or  dumped 
at  stations,  to  fight  mosquitos  in  darkness.  Drilling  gets 
chronic  under  a  midsummer  sun ;  expeditions,  with  the 
gunboat  and  ferry  steamers,  make  sorties  to  the  bay 
shores  and  river-mouths;  descents  are  ordered  on  Ber- 
wick City;  a  place  which  might  be  held,  with  three  com- 
panies of  infantry,  a  couple  of  howitzers,  and  a  mud  fort, 
against  the  whole  rebel  army.  Bombardment  of  this 
tenantless  town,  and  the  lonely  shore  above  it,  goes  on 
incessantly.  A  bunch  of  pendent  moss  can  hardly  stir 
in  the  breeze,  on  that  Berwick  side,  but  straightway 
Fort  Buchanan  launches  its  thunders,  and  our  shore  bat- 
teries pound  at  it.  Occasionally  a  rebel  spurs  his  mus- 
tang through  the  woods,  or  leisurely  draws  bridle  on  the 
beach  road.  Brashear  City  then  becomes  ludicrously 
militant.  Cannons  blaze,  musketry  rattles,  convales- 
cents rush  to  the  "front,"  with  tobacco  pipes  in  their 
mouths.  A  hundred  missiles  shower  around  the  rebel, 
who  dodges  them  easily,  and  rides  off,  laughing  at  us. 

Meantime,  what  is  done  to  make  Brashear  City  defen- 
sible, should  a  rebel  assault  be  indeed  threatened  ? 
Fort  Buchanan,  commanding  the  Bay  and  the  Atchafalaya 
mouths,  with  heavy  siege  guns,  is  yet  entirely  open  to  a 
rear  attack.  No  line  of  earthworks,  not  even  a  rifle-pit, 
stockade,  or  block-house,  defends  the  city  from  approaches 
by  the  railroad  or  the  belt  of  woods  that  intervenes  be- 
tween us  and  the  labyrinth  of  lakes,  accessible  at  any 
time  by  a  rebel  force  from  above.  Pickets  are  thrown 
out  nightly  some  mile  or  less  behind  the  fort ;  and  a  gun- 
boat, patrolling  the  bay,  is  supposed  to  take  occasional 


DEPABTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  113 

cognizance  of  the  water  approaches  from  that  direction. 
Beyond  this,  Brashear  City  is  entirely  exposed  to  sur- 
prise from  its  hack  country. 

But,  here  are  a  thousand,  more  or  less,  experienced, 
serviceable  stragglers ;  convalescents  waiting  to  he  ordered 
to  their  regiments.  These  men,  drawing  daily  rations, 
and  consuming  them,  are  lying  useless  about  their  camps. 
Why  are  they  not  placed  under  efficient  officers,  organ- 
ized into  companies,  supplied  with  arms  and  ammunition 
from  the  mass  of  stores  that  have  accumulated  here  ? 
These  men  are  nearly  all  veterans.  Brigade  them  with 
our  regiments,  and  we  shall  have  a  force  of  two  thousand 
men  at  Brashear  City  and  the  railroad  stations.  Add  to 
these,  two  thousand  negroes,  who  can  be  mustered  in  twen- 
ty-four hours,  to  dig  and  fortify  the  approaches  to  this 
post ;  and  who  shall  say  that  Brashear  City  is  in  danger  ? 

I  think  General  Emory,  before  experimenting  with  an 
important  outpost  through  a  post-commandant  who  wears 
out  the  energies  of  our  few  organized  companies  by  extra 
duty,  should  have  come  here  and  examined  matters  for 
himself.  Had  he  done  so,  we  might  now  be  occupying 
days  and  nights  more  usefully  than  in  making  Quixotic 
forays  on  the  railroad  line. 

But  our  acting  brigadier  is  chief,  and  on  him  must 
devolve  responsibility.  So,  when  a  captain  and  lieuten- 
ant of  my  regiment  venture  to  suggest  an  organization  of 
our  loose  forces — and  get  themselves  snubbed,  for  their 
pains — I  have  no  more  to  do  about  the  administration  of 
military  affairs  than  simply  to  obey  orders. 

But,  finding  myself  rudely  reprimanded,  one  morning, 
on  account  of  a  certain  number  of  pieces  being  foul  at 
gdard-mounting  in  my  regiment,  I  remark  to  the  post- 
commandant,  that  he  might  have  ordered  my  officer  of  the 
guard  to  report  to. me. 


114  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

"  You  are  to  blame,  sir — you !"  exclaims  the  acting 
brigadier,  fulminating  from  his  saddle,  on  my  devoted 
head,  as  ^  sit  at  breakfast,  in  front  of  my  tent. 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir.  According  to  regulation,  I  in- 
spected  every  piece  in -the  regiment,  no  longer  ago  than 
last  Sunday.  The  muskets  that  are  dirty  must  belong  to 
the  pickets  which  were  out,  sir." 

"  It  is  your  fault,  sir !  Consider  yourself  under  ar- 
rest, sir !" 

"  Consider  myself  under  arrest?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  Very  well,  sir  !"  I  reply,  saluting.  And  my  supe- 
rior officer  (by  virtue  of  a  month's  priority  of  date  in 
commission)  rides  off,  at  a  gallop.  I  finish  my  breakfast 
and  wait  for  the  post-adjutant,  or  some  other  officer,  to 
come  and  demand  my  sword ;  but  nobody  appears. 

Towards  evening,  I  walk  over  to  Col.  Nott's  quarters,  a 
house  near  one  of  the  flanks.  The  Colonel  is  convales- 
cing from  his  late  illness,  but  yet  too  feeble  for  duty.  I 
relate  to  him  the  last  exploit  of  our  acting-brigadier,  in 
placing  me  under  arrest.  To  Col.  Nott  the  affair  appears 
ridiculous.  "  Did  he.  take  your  sword  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  nor  has  he  sent  for  it." 

"  It  looks  like  a  joke,"  remarks  the  Colonel,  laughing. 
But  I  assure  him  it  is  no  joke ;  and  we  presently  con- 
clude that  I  had  better  return  to  my  tent,  lest  the  post- 
commander  should  order  me  into  close  confinement. 

Next  day,  another  vital  expedition  is  ordered  up  the 
river  in  steamers,  and  on  the  Berwick  shore.  It  achieves 
a  sight  of  several  rebels,  and  makes  display  of  skirmish- 
ing ;  with  the  loss  of  one  man  of  my  regiment,  who  shoots 
himself,  accidentally,  on  board  the  steamer.  Our  war- 
worn soldiers  return  at  dusk,  and  are  ordered  to  "  sleep 
on  their  arms."  Next  morning,  another  expedition  is  re- 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  115 

ported  on  the  tapis  ;  but  the  men  are  allowed  a  little 
needed  rest.  Just  before  sunset,  as  I  sit  at  my  tent  en- 
trance, Col.  Stickney  rides  up  to  me,  with  a  salute. 

"  Col.  Duganne !  you  will  consider  yourself  released 
from  arrest  after  dress-parade,  this  evening !" 

"  Very  well,  sir  !n  I  reply,  saluting. 

The  actiog-brigadier  turns  his  horse's  head.  Then, 
with  a  smile — 

"  But  those  guns  were  very  dirty,  Colonel !" 

"  You  might  have  ordered  the  officer  of  the  guard  to 
report  that  fact  to  me,  sir." 

Col.  Stickney  smiles  faintly. 

"  You  will  report  for  duty  to-morrow  morning,  Colonel.'* 

"  I  fear,  I  shall  not  be  able,  sir !"  I  reply.  During 
the  day,  I  had  been  attacked  with  a  prevailing  disorder. 

''Very  well;  as  soon  as  you  are  able!"  rejoins  the 
post-commandant,  and  rides  off.  It  is  the  last  I  see  of 
our  Acting  Brigadier  General.  I  hear,  subsequently,  that 
he  behaves*  with  courage  and  discretion  at  Lafourche 
Crossing,  where,  with  my  regiment,  under  its  brave 
Major,  and  some  companies  of  the  Connecticut  volunteers, 
he  succeeds  in  repulsing  a  rebel  force  of  two  thousand 
cavalry.  The  quality  of  gallantry  redeems  many  errors 
that  arise  from  inexperience;  and  it  may  be,  that  Lieut. 
Col.  Stickney,  under  other  circumstances,  might  have  ac- 
complished more  than  he  did  at  Brashear  City.  But  I 
cannot  reject  the  conclusion,  to  which  every  one  conver- 
sant with  our  military  administration  during  the  month 
of  June,  must  arrive,  that,  had  the  time  mis-spent,  in 
daily  and  nightly  forays,  been  properly  devoted  to  or- 
ganization and  defence,  there  would  have  been  another 
ending  to  this  campaign  than  the  disgraceful  capture  of 
Brashear  City  and  its  railroad  line  to  New  Orleans. 


116          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER    XI. 

REBELS    IN    THE   REAR. 

I  HEAR  myself  called  at  midnight,  on  the  nineteenth  of 
July,  and  recognize  Major  Morgans'  voice  at  my  cot-side. 
He  has  just  received  an  order  from  Col.  Stickney,  to 
march  with  our  regiment  to  the  railroad.  My  stout  Major 
is  wearied  out  by  late  exertions,  and  would  gladly  have 
a  respite.  He  inquires  if  I  can  take  command,  but  I 
have  not  yet  reported  for  duty.  Both  of  us  suppose  that 
this  nocturnal  expedition,  like  all  previous  ones,  will 
bring  up  at  some  rail  road  station,  or,  perhaps,  get  no 
farther  than  Brashear  depot.  "I  shall  report  in  the 
morning,"  I  remark;  "and  then  you  may  have  a  rest, 
Major!"  Unfortunate  alternative  for  me!  Major  Morgans 
goes  off,  with  our  men,  to  fight  the  battle  of  Lafourche 
Crossing;  I  remain,  to  march  in  another  direction,  toward 
the  dreary  goal  of  a  Texan  prison. 

Early  next  morning,  I  ride  to  headquarters,  expecting 
to  find  Col.  Stickney,  and  report  to  him.  He  has  gone, 
with  the  troops,  and  left  Major  Anthony  in  command  of 
the  post.  With  Major  Anthony  I  have  no  acquaintance, 
but  learn  that  he  is  a  cavalry  officer,  sojourning  tempo- 
rarily at  Brashear  City.  I  ride  in  various  directions, 
endeavoring  to  meet  him,  without  success. 

Meantime,  a  train  of  cars  loaded  with  stores,  which, 
pursuant  to  orders  from  Col.  Stickney,  had  followed  him 
at  a  later  hour,  returns  with  alarming  intelligence.  The 
communication  with  Lafourche  is  cut  off.  A  rebel  force, 


DEPAETMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  117 

of  cavalry  and  artillery,  occupies  Terrebonne  station. 
Lieut.  Lyons,  of  my  regiment,  posted  in  a  small  stockade 
at  that  point,  has  been  made  a  prisoner. 

Presently,  I  encounter  Major  Anthony.  "Major!  I 
learn  that  you  are  in  command  of  the  post.  I  am  senior 
officer  here,  but  not  having  been  able  to  report  for  duty 
before  Col.  Stickney  left,  I  suppose  I  cannot  relieve  you 
without  orders.1' 

"I  wish  you  could,  Colonel,"  replies  the  Major.  "Col. 
Stickney,  it  is  likely,  left  me  in  command  because  you 
had  not  yet  reported." 

"Well,  Major,"  I  rejoin;  *'we  need  not  differ,  on  the 
point  of  rank.  I  will,  if  you  please,  go  to  Bayou  Bceuff, 
which  has  now  become  the  front,  and  make  dispositions 
to  receive  the  enemy." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  do  so,  Colonel.  I  can  give 
you  an  infantry  company,  to  add  to  the  force  at  Bayou 
Boeuff!" 

"  If  you  will  give  orders  to  collect  some  thirty  or  forty 
of  the  horses  that  are  ranging  on  the  commons,  I  will  try 
to  muster  riders,  and  make  a  cavalry  squadron,  for  duty 
at  the  front." 

"I  will  attend  to  that  at  once,"  answers  the  Major; 
"and  have  the  horses  reported  at  your  quarters." 

I  ride  back  to  camp,  and  begin  to  look  about  for  cavalry 
recruits.  Most  of  my  young  adventurers  (and  the  "Iron- 
sides" regiment  can  boast  a  goodly  proportion  of  youthful 
and  dashing  braves)  are  with  the  main  body,  under  Col. 
Stickney.  Of  the  remaining  rank  and  file,  a  majority  have 
been  on  picket  for  three  days,  and  I  see  no  prospect  of 
relieving  them.  A  few,  beaten  out,  and  some  really  sick, 
are  in  camp.  Out  of  these,  I  muster  fifteen,  ready  to  take 
saddle  for  scouting  duty.  Captain  Coe,  though  on  the 
sick-list,  volunteers  to  lead  them. 


118          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Blunders  and  delays  regarding  the  horses,  prevent  us 
from  getting  off.  Mayor  Anthony  fails  to  organize  the 
promised  infantry  company.  The  day  wanes,  and  nothing 
is  done  toward  organizing  convalescents  or  strengthening 
our  defences. 

Here,  then,  is  the  condition  of  Brashear  City.  Left, 
during  months,  without  personal  supervision  by  those 
charged  with  the  responsibility  of  defending  New  Orleans, 
this  outpost  is,  at  last,  cut  off  from  its  base.  While  in 
daily  expectation  of  an  enemy  in  front  of  the  fortifications, 
we  find  ourselves  suddenly  menaced  from  the  rear.  All 
the  country  above  Berwick  Bay  is  actively  hostile.  The 
approaches  to  our  railroad  lines,  wrested  from  rebel  occu- 
pation by  hard  fighting  two  months  ago,  when  General 
Banks  marched,  via.  the  Attakapas  district,  to  Port 
Hudson,  have  lapsed  into  the  possession  of  our  enemies. 
Forced  back  behind  the  water  front  of  Brashear,  and 
attempting  to  occupy,  with  less  than  one  thousand  effect- 
ive men,  the  whole  railroad  between  this  point  and  Al- 
giers, we  now  find  our  small  force  split  in  twain  by  an 
invading  army  of  rebels. 

A  month  has  been  wasted  in  useless  daily  explorations 
of  the  bay  shores ;  in  bootless  expeditions,  by  night,  upon 
the  railroad.  Our  convalescents,  many  of  them  veterans, 
have  been  allowed  to  shirk  the  simplest  duty,  instead  of 
being  brigaded  and  drilled  for  defence.  Aimless  and  de- 
sultory, the  military  operations,  during  weeks  past,  have 
left  us  at  last  in  a  condition  which  invites  attack  by  an 
alert  and  well-informed  foe. 

The  camp  of  my  regiment  is  located  about  midway 
between  the  depot  and  Fort  Buchanan.  Separated  from 
our  front  by  the  bay's  breadth  only,  Berwick  City  lies 
completely  under  range  of  our  batteries.  At  a  point  op- 
posite our  ferry  wharf,  stand  a  few  large  vacant  buildings, 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  119 

used  as  hospitals  while  we  held  that  side  of  the  water. 
Along  the  Berwick  front,  likewise,  are  several  detached 
dwelling  houses  and  other  structures,  some  tenanted,  but 
the  greater  number  without  occupants.  On  our  own 
shore,  in  front  of  the  camps,  which  are  pitched  thickly 
for  the  space  of  half  a  mile,  along  the  roads,  are  posted, 
three  field  pieces,  guarded  by  reliefs  of  infantry.  A  line 
of  sentinels  and  pickets  is  thrown  along  the  water-road  to 
points  beyond  the  fort. 

Such  is  the  military  condition  of  Brashear  City,  on  the 
evening  of  the  day  when  Lieut.-Col.  Stickney,  leaving 
his  post,  takes  with  him  all  our  effective  infantry.  Two 
companies  of  the  176th  N.  Y.  Volunteers,  supporting  the 
Indiana  batteries  at  Fort  Buchanan,  together  with  strag- 
gling squads  of  my  own  and  the  Connecticut  regiment, 
detailed  as  provost-guards,  or  on  picket  duty,  constitute 
the  defensive  establishment  of  this  important  outpost  of 
New  Orleans,  while  its  late  commandant  finds  himself  at 
Lafourche  Crossing,  thirty  miles  distant,  cut  off  from  his 
base  by  a  rebel  force,  several  thousand  strong,  which  has 
struck  the  railroad  station  three  miles  in  his  rear. 

A  fitting  interlude  of  the  child's  play,  whereby  a  month 
has  been  frittered  in  sham  sorties,  which  might  have 
been  vitally  employed  in  local  organization;  a  fitting  in- 
terlude, between  past  folly  and  the  retribution  that  is  to 
come,  transpires,  this  night,  in  the  burning  of  Berwick 
City. 

Of  course,  we  have  been  battering  that  forsaken  local- 
ity, as  a  diurnal  recreation,  since  our  evacuation  of  it.  I 
know  not  how  many  tons  of  ammunition  have  blazed  against 
the  stupidly-silent  place  during  thirty  days  past ;  but  it 
has  seemed  a  customary  relaxation  for  the  controllers  of 
government  shot  and  shell,  to  drop  those  gentle  missiles 
on  Berwick  whenever  the  whim  seized  them.  I  am  hardly 


120         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

prepared,  however,  for  a  wanton  firing  of  the  lonely 
town ;  and  trust  that  no  one  is  prior  to  it  but  the  naval  hero, 
commanding  our  solitary  gunboat.  He  it  is  who  distin- 
guishes himself  by  this  vandal  deed.  Three  days  hence, 
he  will  perform  another  exploit,  in  shamefully  abandoning 
Brashear  City  at  the  very  outset  of  rebel  assault  upon  it. 

War  is  revolting,  even  in  its  best  aspect.  Stripped  of 
plumed  helmet  and  glittering  armor,  Bellona  appears  in 
no  very  charming  light,  as  a  truculent  woman  ;  and  the 
soldier  in  rags  and  filth  becomes  no  hero  to  the  eyes  of 
romance.  Grand  and  beautiful  is  patriotism  struggling 
against  foreign  invasion;  and  liberty  breasting  tyranny 
is  sublime,  whether  clothed  in  peasant  homespun  or  ar- 
rayed in  knightly  panoply.  But  divest  war  of  all  ab- 
stract merits,  and  it  is  resolved  at  once  into  craft  and 
violence.  Coarse  strength  and  sharp  cunning  achieve 
victory ;  the  heaviest  artillery  decides  conquest ;  the 
richest  exchequer  assures  possession. 

Nevertheless,  no  one  doubts  that  war,  like  thunder  and 
lightning,  freshets  and  tornadoes,  may  have  necessity, 
utility,  and  beneficence.  The  end,  though  not  always 
justifying,  will  often  be  found  to  excuse  the  means  ;  and 
it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  radical  diseases  call  for  radical 
treatment,  in  politics  as  well  as  therapeutics.  Thus,  we 
accept  our  present  national  conflict  as  the  result  of  a  po- 
litical, perhaps  a  moral,  exigency,  requiring  medical  in- 
terposition of  the  heroic  school,  to  save  national  life.  We 
recognize  design  brooding  over  the  chaos  of  our  troubles, 
and  anticipate  renewed  order,  to  be  evoked  out  of  ele- 
mentary disintegration. 

The  "  inexorable  logic  of  events"  overrides  qualm- 
ishness in  military  men ;  nevertheless,  I  deprecate  all 
acts,  which,  like  the  firing  of  Berwick  City,  and  kindred 
abuses  of  power,  can  be  justified  by  no  necessity. 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  121 

I  am  seated  under  an  oak,  before  my  tent.  The  evening 
is  dark,  and  no  lights  are  allowed  in  camp.  Suddenly,  a 
bright  light  shoots  up  from  Berwick  shore,  and  I  have 
hardly  time  to  walk  from  my  quarters,  past  a  half-dozen 
company  streets,  to  the  flank,  when  a  blaze,  wide  and 
fierce,  as  if  of  an  hour's  duration,  appears  upon  the  water 
front  opposite. 

Berwick  City  is  on  fire.  From  wall  to  roof,  from  gar- 
den-fence to  out-building,  from  hedge-row  to  orchard 
trees,  a  devastating  flame  sweeps  along  the  shore  road. 
Broader  and  higher  the  blaze  grows  momently,  throwing 
its  baleful  glow  on  the  waters  of  the  bay,  and  up  against 
the  back-ground  of  forest  and  clouded  sky.  I  never  saw 
a  conflagration  spread  more  rapidly  or  more  devouringly 
than  this.  The  fiery  tongues  dart  from  casements,  doors, 
and  eaves,  licking  up  the  dry  woodwork,  like  stubble. 
Roofs,  corridors,  galleries,  are  ignited,  and  the  red  ele- 
ment extends  and  mounts,  right  and  left,  in  lurid  wings. 

Augmenting  in  volume  till  midnight,  it  is  not  until 
near  morning  that  the  fire  becomes  exhausted,  for  lack  of 
materials  to  feed  upon.  The  wooden  buildings  which 
served  us  for  hospitals  and  warehouses,  with  many  dwell- 
ings and  detached  edifices,  are  consumed — leaving  the 
lower  portion  of  Berwick  City  a  blackened  waste. 


122          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER   XII. 

SABBATH    AT   LAFOUK.CHE. 

THE  rebels  choose  favorable  seasons  for  their  ad- 
venturous descents.  General  Banks,  with  the  main 
strength  of  his  department,  is  encamped  before  Port 
Hudson.  He  has  made  repeated  assaults  on  its  stout 
defenses,  with  no  results  but  the  decimation  of  "  forlorn 
hopes."  Thousands  of  his  gallant  men  have  perished,  by 
disease  more  than  from  wounds.  Meantime,  the  enemy 
rallying  immediately  on  the  track  of  our  late  Federal 
raid,  have  repossessed  themselves  of  the  back  country, 
from  Vermillion  and  Teche  bayous,  to  Atchafalaya  and 
Mississippi  rivers.  They  pour  down  from  the  Texan 
border ;  they  swarm  on  western  banks  of  the  Father  of 
Waters. 

Thus  it  occurs,  that,  on  the  eventful  Saturday  which 
Col.  Stickney  selected  for  his  expedition  to  Lafourche 
Crossing,  a  rebel  force  of  about  three  thousand  cavalry 
comes  charging  down  the  upper  waters  of  this  very  La- 
fourche .  Dispatched  by  Louisianian  General  Mouton,  under 
command  of  Col.  Major — West  Point  graduate  in  Con- 
federate service — a  raid  of  wild  riders  dashes  down  the 
bayou  banks,  discomfits  a  handful  of  Americans  at  Plaque- 
mine,  scours  through  Napoleon  and  Labadie,  and  swoops 
upon  a  brace  of  feeble  companies  at  Thibodeaux.  The 
astonished  Federals  stay  not  for  compliments,  but  make 
good  use  of  horse  legs,  mule  legs,  and  legs  generally,  to 
cover  the  four  mile  road,  between  Thibodeaux  and  La- 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  123 

fourche  Crossing,  in  the  shortest  running  time  on  record 
except  the  run  from  Bull  Run.  A  race  indeed — along 
that  narrow  bayou  road,  with  double-barrelled  shot-guns 
and  border  rifles  cracking  like  champagne  corks  ;  our 
fugitives  lassoed  by  twos  and  threes,  till  half  a  hundred 
or  more  find  themselves  turned  to  the  right-about  toward 
Thibodeaux  jail.  Six  hundred  rebel  horsemen,  riding 
and  yelling  like  Cumanches,  pursue  our  flying  provost- 
marshals,  dispersed  plantation  guards,  and  suddenly-re- 
lieved pickets,  almost  to  the  mouths  of  Lafourche  bat- 
teries. A  discharge  of  twelve  and  thirty-two  pound  guns 
turns  them  back,  but  only  to  meet  and  merge  in  Major's 
main  body,  which,  to  the  number  of  two  thousand,  rapidly 
brings  up  their  rear.  For  an  hour  or  two,  they  deploy  and 
reconnoitre,  in  the  manner  of  Arabs,  and  then  take  cover 
in  the  dense  woods  and  close  plantation-fields  which  bor- 
der Lafourche  bayou. 

Not  wholly  idle,  however,  are  these  half-starved  and 
half-naked  Bedouins.  Thibodeaux  boasts  several  groce- 
ries and  a  few  sutler  shops*  Thibodeaux  harbors  num- 
bers of  rebel  sympathizers,  on  fine  estates  and  in  suburban 
chateaux.  Thibodeaux  "  secesh"  damsels  are  pretty  and 
numerous,  and  its  orchards  luxuriant  and  tempting. 
Thibodeaux  counts  hundreds  of  negroes,  male  and  fe- 
male, easy  to  "gobble,"  and  of  clear  money  value.  So 
the  rebels  break  over  that  quiet  "ville,"  with  most  charm- 
ing varieties  of  looseness.  While  dashing  cavalry  officers 
lend  gold-braided  arms  to  interesting  plantation  widows 
and  their  dark-eyed  Creole  daughters,  just  out  of  the  con- 
vent day-school;  while  improvised  provost-marshal  men 
take  note  of  captured  "  Yanks,*'  and  consign  them  to  un- 
derground cells  of  the  stone  prison ;  while  scouts  and 
patrols  whip  in  reluctant  darkies  to  new  masters;  the 
rank  and  file  of  raiders  begin  to  solace  themselves  for 


124          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

long  abstinence,  by  the  discussion  of  fat  beeves,  United 
States  brand  flour,  real  "  Lincoln"  coffee,  and  (that  prize 
of  all  prizes  for  rebels)  United  States  commissary  whis- 
key. Canteens,  bottles,  flasks,  and  gourds  are  quickly 
filled  and  replenished;  pint-dipperfuls  are  lost  in  rebel 
gullets,  till  half  the  force  get  staggering  drunk,  and  the 
other  half  wait  for  a  chance  to  be. 

Confederate  commanders  rule  their  ragged  cohorts 
with  iron  authority,  but  are  careless  concerning  discip- 
line, so  long  as  no  immediate  attack  is  apprehended. 
Manifestly  the  rebel  officers  know  with  what  small  num- 
bers they  have  to  deal,  and  that  Col.  Stickney,  who  con- 
trols some  five  hundred  Federals  at  Lafourche  Crossing, 
will  not  be  likely  to  trust  them  from  the  shelter  of  his 
railroad-grading  defences.  The  capture  of  Thibodeaux, 
they  know,  commands  two  roads  diverging  from  it,  to  the 
two  crossings  at  Lafourche  and  Terrebonne  ;  these  roads 
describing  a  scalene  triangle,  with  the  railroad  for  its 
hypotheneuse.  A  small  circular  earthwork,  stockaded 
and  ditched  around  by  our  New  York  boys,  at  Terre- 
bonne Crossing,  contains  a  company  of  less  than  thirty 
men,  left  there  to  defend  it.  Col.  Major,  after  chasing 
the  Federals  from  Thibodeaux  to  Lafourche  by  one  leg  of 
the  triangle,  sends  a  troop  of  his  screeching  butternuts 
to  attack  Terrebonne  by  the  other  leg.  Headlong  they 
gallop  towards  our  stockade,  and  hoist  a  white  flag, 
Lieut.  Lyons  goes  out  to  parley.  A  demand  for  sur- 
render is  made.  Lyons  replies  that  the  stockade  was 
not  built  for  that  purpose;  whereupon  a  revolver  is 
drawn  upon  him,  and  a  big  oath  or  two.  At  this  junc- 
ture, up  steams  a  train  from  Lafourche,  bringing  orders 
from  Col.  Stickney  to  evacuate,  which  our  stockade-men 
obey,  en  masse,  escaping  to  the  cars.  In  another  moment 
a  whistle  shrieks,  the  engine  is  reversed,  and  away 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  125 

speeds  the  train  for  Lafourche  again.  Our  young  com- 
mander, Lieut.  Lyons,  is  left  on  the  ground,  with  a  white 
flag  above,  and  the  rebels  advancing  to  capture  him. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner,  sir  !  Go  with  me,  or  I'll  blow 
you  brains  out!"  cries  a  rebel  officer,  presenting  his  re- 
volver at  Lieut.  Lyons.  At  the  same  time,  his  mounted 
followers  charge  up  the  railroad  track,  fire  off  their  pis- 
tols and  shot-guns  at  the  retreating  steam-engine,  and 
then  draw  bridles,  to  vent  maledictions  upon  "  Yankee 
treachery."  So,  my  unlucky  sous-officer  of  the  "Iron- 
sides" is  compelled  to  see  his  brave  company  receding 
towards  safety,  while  his  own  feet  must  measure  the  road 
to  Thibodeaux  jail,  and  thereafter  march  painfully  to  a 
Texan  prison-pen. 

During  Saturday  night,  the  rebel  camp  at  Thibodeaux 
presents  a  scene  of  hilarious  triumph.  Commissary  and 
sutlers'  stores  are  without  money  or  price,  and  whiskey 
rations  call  for  no  quartermasters'  vouchers.  The  "bonny 
blue  flag"  gets  bluer  than  ever  ;  for  at  least  a  dozen  bar- 
rels of  "  red  eye"  are  mixed  with  the  grey-backed  clay 
of  rebellion,  till  every  "  sans-culotte  "  of  them  can  lay 
claim  to  a  "brick  in  his  hat." 

Sabbath  is  not  religiously  kept  in  Thibodeaux  parish 
next  day.  There  are  more  stores  to  ransack,  niggers  to 
'•lick,"  Yankee  prisoners  to  bedevil,  and  the  whiskey 
jollification  continues.  Scouting  parties,  scouring  .the 
roads,  at  full  gallop,  and  clattering  over  bayou  bridges 
like  wild  huntsmen  ;  yells  that  make  the  owls  hoot  at 
midday  in  Bayou  Blue  swamp  woods ;  cheers  for  Jeff. 
Davis,  and  a  choral  refrain  about  capturing  New  Orleans 
to  the  tune  of  "  Dixie  ;"  with  such  little  dalliances  as 
eating,  smoking,  and  drinking  whiskey,  make  up  the  order 
of  rebel  discipline  in  and  about  the  captured  "  ville," 
while  down  Lafourche  bayou  sweeps  cavalry  in  twos  and 


126          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

fours,  making  sudden  onsets  on  Federal  pickets,  and 
wheeling  in  and  out  of  our  lines,  for  pure  mischief  and 
bravado. 

The  rebel  commander,  however,  means  more  than  me- 
nace to  the  Yankees.  Towards  sunset  he  begins  to  bestir 
himself.  Bugles  sound  along  his  lines,  ragged  cavaliers 
take  loving  swigs  at  whiskey  cans,  and  swing  themselves 
into  saddle ;  and  before  dusk  the  entire  force,  consisting 
of  Major's,  Phillips'  and  Pyron's  regiments,  with  addi- 
tions from  Mouton's  Creole  levy  sets  off  from  Thibodeaux 
for  a  dash  at  Lafourche  Crossing,  to  carry  the  bridge  at 
once,  and  bag  five  hundred  "Yanks"  by  supper-time. 
Such  a  roaring,  leaping,  riotous  set  never  galloped  before 
to  a  battle-field.  Every  man  is  more  or  less  intoxicated, 
and  some  so  drunk  that,  if  they  were  not  Texans  and 
born  riders,  they  could  never  keep  their  saddles.  The 
afternoon  was  showery,  and  as  this  motley  array  gallops 
down  the  bayou  banks,  a  terrible  thunderstorm  breaks 
overhead,  discharging  torrents  of  sheeted  rain.  I  never 
saw  the  water  come  down  in  greater  volume  than  it  did 
that  day  on  the  Opelousas  Railroad  line — flooding  the 
fields,  raising  the  water  courses,  making  roads  like  lakes, 
and  bridle-paths  impassable.  Major  and  his  rebel  horde 
seem  to  exult  in  the  elemental  war  above  them.  They 
charge  down  the  road,  and  up  against  the  embankment 
behind  which  our  American  batteries  are  posted,  with 
resolution  worthy  of  a  better  cause  than  treason.  Per- 
haps they  anticipate  an  easy  victory ;  perchance  they  ex- 
pect to  send  our  five  hundred  Yankees  flying  like  chaff 
>  before  their  mustang  ponies.  Never  were  traitors  more 
suddenly  brought  to  a  realizing  sense,  however.  Their 
columns  are  permitted  to  gallop  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  our  position,  when,  from  the  big  thirty-two,  and  the 
three  twelve-pounder  howitzers,  leaps  out  a  withering 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  127 

fire  of  grape  and  canister,  flanked  by  steady  volleys  from 
our  infantry,  who  stand  up  to  the  work  like  veterans. 
Then  it  is  that  our  "  Ironsides"  major  gives  an  example 
of  coolness  inspiring  to  his  men.  Discarding  all  instruc- 
tions of  Casey,  as  to  firing  by  file  in  line  of  battle,  the  gal- 
lant Morgans  sings  his  orders  out  as  if  at  musket  drill. 
"Men,"  he  had  whispered,  while  the  enemy  were  yet  at 
a  distance,  "you  know  my  voice.  Now  don't  fire  a  gun 
till  I  give  the  order.  Recollect,  men  !"  And  when  the 
rebel  front  comes  nigh,  and  the  word  is  passed  to  our  can- 
noneers, and  grape  and  canister  hurtle  over  the  levee, 
both  sides  can  hear — rebels  no  less  than  Federals — a  loud, 
clear  voice  above  the  din  of  strife:  "  Ready !  aim !  fire ! 
Rear  rank,  ready  !  aim  !  fire !  Front  rank,  ready !  aim  ! 

fire !     Rear  rank " 

And  our  brave  boys  stand  up  to  the  drill  as  if  at  dress- 
inspection.  They  bite  off  cartridges,  and  load,  and  ram 
down,  and  half-face  to  a  ready,  and  take  aim,  and — their 
deadly  fire  tells  the  rest  of  the  story ;  till  rebel  horsemen 
reel,  and  their  steeds,  with  loose  bridles,  break  before  the 
Yankee  hurricane.  That  voice,  giving  orders  like  a  drill- 
master;  those  volleys,  regular  as  rifle  practice ;  surely, 
no  nine  months'  discipline  is  here,  our  enemies  say ;  and 
they  tell  us  afterwards  that  they  thought  our  troops  were 
"regulars,"  so  cool  did  they  show  themselves  under  a 
Texan  charge,  with  all  its  yells  and  aboriginal  devilry. 

But,  though  recoiling  from  the  deathful  greeting  which 
met  their  first  charge,  the  rebels  are  soon  rallied  by  their 
oflicers.  Forming  a  second  line  of  battle,  they  advance 
again,  with  headlong  determination,  stopping  not  for  grape 
or  canister ;  resolved  to  ride  down  both  our  guns  and 
gunners.  But  that  ringing  order  peals  again — "Rear 
rank,  ready!  aim!  fire!" — and  again  leap  out  the  respon- 
eive  volleys  from  our  infantry  lines.  A  score  of  saddles 


128  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

are  emptied,  a  score  of  horses  careering  confusedly  while 
yet  forty  yards  from  our  batteries.  They  retreat,  in  dis- 
ordered ranks.  Voices  of  officers,  sounding  out  of  the 
melee,  vainly  urge  them  to  the  fiery  parapet.  The  second 
charge  rolls  back  repulsed.  Our  American  soldiers  have 
breathing  time  again. 

Colonel  Major  little  expected  such  an  obstacle.  His 
march  from  the  Sabine  had  thus  far  been  a  mere  pleasure 
excursion ;  but  Lafourche  Crossing  shows  a  lion  in  his 
path.  Here  are  two  or  three  thousand  Texan  "invinci- 
bles"  fljing  back  from  a  mud  bank,  like  so  many  Mexican 
"greasers."  Scores  of  these  dare-devil  cavalry  lie  dead 
or  dying  under  the  levee,  within  a  hundred  feet  of  the 
Yankee  lines.  Those  batteries  must  be  carried  at  all 
hazard.  West  Point  Major  forms  his  line  for  a  third 
charge. 

More  swigs  at  whiskey  cans;  a  sounding  of  bugles;  a 
quick,  sharp  order,  "Charge!"  from  centre  to  flanks;  and 
the  rebels  are  riding  on  again.  This,  indeed,  is  a 
desperate  onset,  almost  achieving  victory.  Rowels  are 
driven  into  the  horses ;  a  fierce  war-whoop  rings  from 
front  to  rear,  and  the  charging  squadrons  bear  down  like 
thunder-clouds,  with  a  lurid  flame  from  the  muzzles  of 
their  guns  marking  the  line  of  advance.  Well  for  our 
brave  men  that,  under  previous  charges,  they  stood  up 
to  their  drill  exercise  so  coolly.  Again  listening  for 
Morgans'  trumpet  voice,  the  gallant  New  York  and  Con- 
necticut boys  remain  steady,  like  veterans,  while  our 
artillerymen  sight  their  cannon  against  the  black,  advanc- 
ing masses  that  come  sweeping  through  torrents  of  rain. 
Up  the  embankment  this  time;  up  to  the  cannon  mouths; 
yes !  over  howitzers  and  into  infantry  ranks,  the  rebels 
sweep  like  a  tornado.  They  drive  back  gunners  and  mus- 
keteers, they  leap  from  their  saddles,  closing  upon  our 


DEPABTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  129 

bayonets,  bestriding  our  field-pieces  with  yells  of  triumph,. 
But  the  Americans  answer  with  an  American  hurrah, 
and  when  that  ceases,  the  steady  emphasis  of  Morgans* 
tone  is  heard — "Rear  rank!  ready!  aim!  fire!"  A  terrible 
volley  and  a  fierce  charge  of  our  infantry  repulse  the  foe  a 
third- time,  strewing  his  dead  upon  the  bayou  road,  as 
thick  as  falling  leaves  in  November.  In  vain  the  Texan 
chiefs  dash  hither  and  thither;  in  vain  they  roar  com- 
mands till  their  throats  grow  hoarse.  The  rebel  spirit 
is  broken,  for  the  day,  and  even  whiskey  cannot  bring 
them  to  time  again.  They  scatter  to  the  roadside,  disperse, 
and  rally  in  close  order,  and  then,  turning  bridles  for 
Thibodeaux,  are  lost  in  the  shades  of  advancing  night. 
One  desperado  only  lingers  where  the  rebels  pierced  our 
lines.  Maddened  by  alcohol,  he  charged  upon  a  howitzer, 
and  sprang  from  his  saddle,  at  its  muzzle.  Here,  unable 
to  keep  his  legs,  he  fells  forward  on  the  gun,  clasping  it 
with  both  arms,  and  yelling,  with  an  oath,  "Surrender, 
Yank!  this  piece  is  mine!" 

"Take  it!"  replies  the  Yankee  gunner,  with  a  sword- 
thrust  that  pierces  the  rebel's  midriff. 

This  ends  Texan  "charging"  on  Lafourche  Crossing. 
A  hundred  dead  rebels  are  left  upon  the  field,  and  the 
sum  of  their  wounded  reaches  double  that  number. 


130         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

BAYOU   BCEUFF. 

SABBATH  morning  brings  flying  rumors  from  all  quar- 
ters. We  hear  of  fighting,  at  Lafourche  and  Thibodeaux ; 
of  rebel  advances  on  the  railroad  line.  In  the  afternoon, 
Lieut.  Robens,  of  my  regiment,  Deputy  Provost  Marshal, 
stationed  at  Tigerville,  reports  at  camp.  From  him,  I 
glean  several  items  of  intelligence  respecting  the  condi- 
tion of  affairs  upon  the  railroad  line.  As  far  back  as 
Thursday  last,  this  young  officer  received  hints  concern- 
ing the  rebel  advance,  which  he  communicated  to  the 
Provost  General  by  letter.  A  person,  who  represented 
himself  as  a  Union  fugitive  from  Alexandria,  brought 
news  that  "Dick  Taylor"  was  moving  down  the  Teche, 
with  fifteen  thousand  men;  and  that  his  main  object  was 
the  recapture  of  New  Orleans.  On  Friday,  a  negro  woman 
sought  protection  from  a  mistress,  who  had  cruelly  whip- 
ped her,  while  her  master,  standing  by,  boasted  that 
his  friends  would  soon  drive  the  Yankees  from  Terre- 
bonne,  when  he  should  be  able  to  take  the  "airs  out  of 
his  niggers"  once  more.  On  Saturday,  the  negroes  crowd- 
ed into  Tigerville,  bringing  exaggerated  accounts  of  rebel 
forces,  and  more  credible  statements  regarding  the  sym- 
pathy with  which  their  appearance  was  greeted  by  treach- 
erous white  men  who  had  pretended  to  support  our  cause. 
My  poor  black  loyalists  at  Tigerville  are  eager  to  make 
a  stand.  They  demand  arms,  declaring  that  they  will  fight 
to  the  death,  rather  than  return  to  bondage. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  131 

Capt.  Bailey,  D  eputy  Provost  Marshal  at  Houma,  arrives 
at  Brashear,  this  Sabbath  day,  reporting  rebels  to  be 
in  large  numbers  on  the  road  between  Houma  and  Tiger- 
ville.  A  locomotive  reconnoissance,  upon  the  railroad, 
returns  toward  evening,  with  information  that  rebel  horse- 
men were  encountered  near  Chickahoula.  During  the 
afternoon,  a  violent  thunder  storm  breaks  over  Brashear; 
and  pluvial  showers  descend  upon  our  camps.  Toward 
dusk,  having  mustered  my  small  force,  I  take  cars  for 
Bayou  Bceuff,  leaving  the  horses  to  follow  by  the  wagon 
road.  Steaming  through  rain  and  darkness,  we  reach  the 
front,  and  disembark  in  mud  and  water.  This  dreary  and 
drenched  camp  at  Bayou  Boouff  offers  scant  shelter.  I 
find  a  single  company  of  my  regiment,  under  Lieutenant 
Kirby  ;  some  thirty  effectives  ;  bivouacked  beneath  pro- 
tecting eaves  of  a  decaying  sugar-house  roof.  The  ground 
about  them  is  shared  by  a  detachment  of  the  Twenty-First 
Indiana  Siege  Artillery,  under  Lieut.  Sherfy,  who,  with 
Lieut.  Kirby's  men,  lately  garrisoned  Fort  Chene,  a  harbor 
fortification  some  miles  below  Brashear  City.  These 
combined  commands  had  received  orders  from  Col.  Stick- 
ney,  to  evacuate  the  fort,  destroy  its  defences,  and  report, 
with  its  heavy  pieces,  three  in  number,  at  Bayou  Bceuff. 
Accordingly,  they  are  here,  and  I  dig  my  way,  through 
yellow  mire,  to  their  flank,  where  Lieut.  Kirby  contrives 
to  seat  me  in  a  dry  corner  of  his  narrow  quarters. 
Therefrom,  after  hearing  some  reports,  I  seek  lodging  in 
a  neighboring  hut,  and  sleep  the  sleep  of  weariness,  till 
morning. 

Monday  opens  a  day  of  activity.  Keceiving  reports 
and  property  accounts  from  Captain  Sanford,  of  the  Twen- 
ty-Third Connecticut  Volunteers,  who,  with  three  com- 
panies of  his  regiment,  has  occupied  the  post,  I  assume 
command,  and  prepare  to  get  our  defensive  materiel  in 


132          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

working  condition.  Much  to  my  surprise,  on  inspection 
of  the  siege-pieces,  I  find  them  planted  on  the  Brashear 
side  of  Bayou  Bo3uff;  a  weak  position,  if  assaulted  by 
any  force  capable  of  flanking  movements.  Slight  earth- 
works have  been  thrown  up,  on  the  levee,  and  a  cannon  is 
mounted  near  the  bridgehead,  on  one  side  of  the  railroad 
track,  in  line  with  two  others,  which  command  half  a  mile 
or  more  of  the  opposite  shore  and  highway  approaches 
from  Tigerville.  A  signal  tower,  erected  by.  General 
Weitzel,  for  observation  of  the  surrounding  country,  has 
been  demolished,  as  I  learn,  under  the  same  sagacious 
orders  which  caused  Fort  Chene  to  be  abandoned  and  its 
cannon  brought  to  this  place.  Is  this  another  manifesta- 
tion of  that  military  genius  which  denuded  Brashear  City 
of  effectives,  and  left  the  Opelousas  railroad  to  be  sev- 
ered by  a  sudden  dash  of  rebels  into  Terrebonne  ? 

I  mentally  ask  this  question ;  but  have  no  time  to 
speculate  further.  This  railroad  crossing,  at  Bayou 
Boauff,  is  now  the  point  to  be  defended,  and  it  only  re- 
mains for  me  to  make  the  best  of  defensive  facilities. 
The  land  is  low  on  both  sides  of  the  railroad  ;  only  on 
the  levee  banks,  or  on  the  track,  can  our  artillery  obtain 
a  proper  range.  I  order  one  siege-piece  to  be  elevated 
to  a  position  on  the  grade ;  but  my  judgment  convinces 
me  that  we  are  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  bridge,  for  an 
effective  defence  of  this  post. 

The  rebels  are  known  to  be  in  force  at  Terrebonne, 
twenty  miles  distant  by  the  rail,  and  their  advance  may 
be  looked  for  hourly.  Could  I  have  time  to  erect  a  line 
of  earthworks,  at  the  other  bridge-end,  to  stretch  from 
the  bayou-bank  to  the  timber  which  crosses  the  roads,  we 
might  hold  the  BoeufF  against  an  enemy  with  hopes  of  suc- 
cess ;  for  our  flanks  would  be  difficult  to  molest,  unless 
approached  by  heavier  artillery.  A  fort,  of  earth  and 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  133 

cypress  logs,  upon  the  other  bank,  well-victualled  and 
supplied  with  ammunition,  would  be  better  still,  and 
with  it  I  could  keep  the  enemy  at  bay  effectually. 

Such  are  my  reflections  in  surveying  the  position ;  but 
there  is  no  time  for  "  change  of  base,"  with  rebels  in  a 
half  day's  march  of  us.  To  learn  the  ground,  and  com- 
prehend its  approaches,  becomes  my  first  concern,  and  I 
lose  no  time  in  mustering  a  dozen  of  my  hard-riding 
"  Ironsides"  boys,  to  go  "  on  scout"  and  gather  information. 

Noontime  arrives,  and  with  it  a  locomotive,  in  charge 
of  Lieut.  Stevenson,  of  my  regiment,  dispatched  for  a 
"  reconnoissance"  upon  the  railroad.  It  carries  a  twelve- 
pound  howitzer,  mounted  on  a  freight-car,  fenced  by  planks 
and  timber  buttresses  ;  with  sharp-shooters  behind,  to 
pick  off  rebel  pickets,  should  they  show  themselves. 
Our  Brashear  gun-boat  now  steams  up,  and  fastens  to  the 
bridge,  and  her  valorous  captain  counsels  me  to  pull  that 
structure  down,  to  keep  the  rebel  cavalry  from  charging 
over  it.  I  decline  the  loan  of  his  hawser  for  such  pur- 
pose, however,  and  only  make  use  of  the  war  vessel,  to 
send  on  her  some  dozen  sick  men  to  our  Brashear  hospi- 
tal. So  the  gunboat  steams  off  again,  and  in  an  hour  or 
more  the  reconnoitring  train  comes  back,  with  all  its 
armament  and  sharp-shooters  intact  and  bloodless. 

Nevertheless,  this  rail  road  battery  has  visited  Terre- 
bonne,  and  the  howitzer  has  discoursed  with  rebel  artil- 
lery, Our  iron-horse  vedettes  made  a  dash  through 
Tigerville  and  Chickahoula,  and  then  bore  on,  with  loco- 
motive at  the  rear,  until  they  neared  the  open  fields  of 
Terrebonne,  where  Winder's  rich  plantation  skirts  one 
side  of  the  rail  road,  and  Tanner's  sugar-grounds  hem  in 
the  other.  Here  they  saw  rebels  tearing  up  rails,  and 
rebels  burrowing  in  earthworks,  and  rebel  cavalry  cavort- 
ing over  neighboring  roads  and  meadows.  So,  they 


134         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

stopped,  and  bowled  a  shell  upon  the  enemy;  whereat  a 
rebel  battery  opened  on  them;  and  thus,  satisfied  with  re- 
connaissance, and  exchanging  one  or  two  more  shots  with 
rebeldom,  they  reversed  the  engine  just  in  time  to  escape 
a  dash  of  cavalry,  and  are  here  safely  to  report  the  result 
of  a  railroad  excursion.  So  much  I  learn  through  the 
reconnoissance,  that  the  enemy  had  not  yet  left  Terre- 
bonne,  and  I  mentally  resolve  on  breaking  ground  for  a 
fort  on  the  opposite  levee.  It  is  evident,  that  the  rebels 
are  in  force  at  Thibodeaux,  and  not  to  be  doubted,  that 
they  will  soon  advance  upon  the  Bceuff.  But  could  time 
be  left  me,  to  throw  up  defences,  on  the  eastern  bridge- 
head, so  that  roads  and  plateaus,  leading  to  the  railway, 
might  be  thus  commanded,  while  musketry  and  howitzer 
prevent  attempts  at  crossing  from  the  lakes,  or  the  upper 
bayou — I  have  confidence  in  my  ability  to  hold  the 
Bceuff,  until  our  Brashear  garrison  can  be  relieved  by 
way  of  the  Gulf. 

Thus  encouraged,  I  at  once  send  out  a  squad  as  pickets, 
on  a  hand-car,  with  orders  to  repair  to  Tigerville,  some 
twelve  miles  distant  by  the  highway,  and  by  rail  road 
seven.  They  are  instructed  to  organize  a  horse  and  foot 
patrol  of  certain  blacks,  selected  from  plantations  on 
their  route,  and  known  to  me  as  bold  and  trusty  partisans 
of  ours.  Then,  strengthening  the  pickets  near  our  camp, 
and  sending  scouts  to  scour  the  various  roads,  with  orders 
to  be  vigilant,  I  see  the  sun  set  on  my  first  day  of  com- 
mand at  Bayou  Bceuff. 

No  repose  yet,  however.  I  must  talk  with  anxious 
citizens,  who  bring  reports  of  rebel  scouts,  and  claim 
protection  as  good  Union  men ;  and  I  must  question  wide- 
mouthed  contrabands  from  -Bayou  Black  estates,  who 
"seed  a  rebel"  here  and  there,  behind  a  hundred  bushes. 
Primary  care  of  all,  I  must  dispatch  a  messenger  to  work 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  135 

his  way  through  rebel  lines,  and  reach  Lafourche;  for 
there,  perhaps,  are  "acting-brigadier"  Stickney,  and  my 
regiment;  and  there,  in  that  case,  is  the  telegraph  still 
safe,  connecting  with  head-quarters  at  New  Orleans.  So 
I  pen  a  hasty  note,  reporting  my  position,  and  forthwith 
provide  a  saddled  horse  for  Sergeant  Lewis,  who  volun- 
teers to  ride,  walk,  crawl,  or  swim  his  way  to  our  lines 
at  Lafourche  Crossing.  "Heaven  speed  my  messenger!" 
I  mentally  pray,  as  he  rides  away  though  the  twilight. 
He  can  make  thirty  miles  to  night,  on  the  road  toward 
Houma,  and  to-morrow  he  may  take  the  swamp,  and  so 
pass  from  Bayou  Blue  to  Lafourche,  unnoticed. 

Lieut.  Kirby  has  pitched  a  tent  for  me  to-day,  and  my 
cook  George  ought  to  be  getting  supper,  but  has  not  yet 
returned  from  Brashear,  whither  he  went,  this  morning, 
for  our  rations.  Toussaint,  my  groom,  arrives  with  the 
horse,  "Black  Roman."  John  remains  in  camp,  at  Bra- 
shear,  with  our  baggage.  So  I  must  accept  my  lieute- 
nant's coffee  and  hard  bread,  or  lie  down  supperless. 

I  throw  myself  upon  a  blanket,  but  am  aroused  im- 
mediately. A  scout  brings  intelligence  of  boats  seen 
crossing  at  Lake  Pelourde.  It  is  a  movement  which  may 
threaten  some  design  on  Brashear  City.  A  force  from 
Pelourde  might  strike  the  rear  of  both  Bayou  Boeuff  and 
Brashear.  It  is  from  Brashear  that  such  a  force  must 
be  reconnoitred  or  repelled.  I  look  around,  for  a  mes- 
senger, and  Lieut.  Robens,  of  my  regiment,  opportunely 
presents  himself.  I  direct  him  to  mount  and  ride  at  once 
to  Brashear,  report  what  I  have  learned  to  Major  Antho- 
ny, and  have  him  take  the  speediest  measures  for  de- 
fence. Presently,  I  hear  the  lieutenant  gallopping  from 
camp.  It  is  now  nine  o'clock.  He  should  reach  Bra- 
shear  City  between  ten  and  eleven.  I  lie  down  again. 

From  unrefreshing  sleep  I  rise  early.     It  is  Tuesday, 


136          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

the  twenty-third  day  of  June,  a  balmy  morning,  redolent 
of  summer  sweets.  I  hear  the  wheels  of  a  hand  car  on 
the  railroad.  It  is  the  Tigerville  picket,  ordered  to  report 
to  me  at  sunrise.  A  steam  whistle  shrieks  from  the 
woods  west  of  us.  That  must  be  the  train  from  Brashear 
City.  Major  Anthony  promised  yesterday  that  con- 
stant commuication  should  be  kept  between  our  camps. 
I  hope  this  train  brings  George,  with  rations. 

But  it  is  a  locomotive  only;  and  Conductor  "Billy" 
reports,  that — "The  rebels  are  shelling  Brashear." 

"Ah !  they  are  at  Berwick  then !  But  where  are  your 
cars,  sir?" 

"I  thought  I  would  come  and  report,  sir.  The  rebels 
are  in  great  force  opposite  Brashear." 

"  You  had  better  go  back,  and  couple  on  the  commis- 
sary train,  if  danger  be  threatened." 

The  Conductor  sprang  on  his  engine.  "  I  cannot  tell 
what  may  have  happened,"  he  remarked.  "For  fear  of 
accident,  I  shall  make  a  signal  when  I  return — two 
screams  of  the  steam-whistle,  with  a  pause  between 
them." 

The  locomotive  rattles  away,  and  I  turn,  to  hear  the 
report  of  my  railroad  picket.  "All  right  at  Tigerville, 
Colonel!" 

"Have  you  seen  nothing  of  the  enemy,  sergeant?" 

"No  rebels  about,  Colonel.  I  had  fifty  darkeys  on 
horses  and  mules,  scouting  all  night,  sir.  Not  a  reb  to 
be  seen  this  side  of  Chuckahoula." 

"Did  you  leave  any  of  your  squad  at  Tigerville?" 

"No,  sir!  I  was  ordered  to  report  to  camp  at  sunrise." 

"Take  another  squad — a  relief — and  go  back,  for  the 
day.  I  desire  you  to  remain  with  them,  sergeant." 

"Yes,  sir!"  And  my  sergeant,  who  like  most  of  the 
non-commissioned  officers  of  Co.  I,  can  be  trusted  for  duty 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  137 

and  discipline  at  all  times,  goes  out  to  detail  the  day- 
picket  for  Tigerville.  In  a  few  minutes,  I  hear  his  hand- 
car rumbling  over  the  rails  again. 

But  the  non-arrival  of  a  train,  with  George  and  my  ra- 
tions, suggests  another  jour  maigre,  and  I  must  forage 
for  breakfast  presently.  Meantime,  a  cup  of  coffee — un- 
failing matinal  stimulant  in  this  sultry  clime — restores  my 
equipoise.  Toussaint  saddles  "  Black  Roman,"  and  I  ride 
to  the  earthworks,  musingly.  It  is  a  brilliant  morning, 
and  the  broad  bosom  of  Bayou  Bceuff  flashes  back  golden 
sunshine.  I  look  over  the  placid  landscape ;  over  woods 
rocking  in  green  luxuriance;  over  quiet  waters  laving  the 
levee  banks ;  over  peaceful  cottages  bowered  in  fragrant 
orchards.  Who  would  dream  that  foes  are  threatening 
discord  and  conflict?  that  black-mouthed  cannon  are 
needed  here,  or  that  fire  shall  menace  ruin  to  these  home- 
steads? 

The  rumble  of  a  hand-car,  upon  the  rail-track,  recalls 
me  from  reflective  mood.  Tigerville  pickets  return,  with 
a  report,  that  rebels  in  force  are  within  ten  and  eight 
miles  of  this  position.  Their  main  body  of  cavalry  is 
advancing  from  the  Chickahoula  road,  through  Tigerville, 
and  must  soon  reach  Bayou  Boeuff.  Already,  a  stream 
of  black  fugitives  from  Terrebonne  plantations  begins  to 
flow  into  camp. 

It  is  the  twenty-third  day  of  June.  At  this  hour,  our 
comrades  at  Lafourche  Crossing,  being  reinforced  from 
New  Orleans,  are  marching  upon  Thibodeaux,  to  find  that 
place  evacuated  by  Colonel  Major  and  his  rebels.  But 
this  movement  is  yet  unknown  to  me;  just  as  the  im- 
minent peril  of  Brashear  City  remains  undisclosed  to  its 
late  post-commandant. 

Imminent  peril,  indeed!  Suddenly,  I  hear  the  signal- 
whistles  of  Conductor  "Billy;"  and  the  crash  of  a  brace 


138          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

of  locomotives  shakes  the  track,  as  they  rush  into  the 
station.     "Billy"  springs  from  the  leading  engine. 
•"Colonel!  Brashear  is  captured  by  the  rebels!" 
"Captured!" 

"They  've  got  it,  sir!  Came  in  from  the  woods,  at  our 
rear!  It  was  a  complete  surprise,  sir!" 

"  Where  is  the  train  of  cars  you  were  to  bring  in  ?" 
"I  could  not  hitch  on  this   engine  to  it,   sir;  as  the 
other  was  between  me  and  the  cars  ?" 

"Why  did  you  not  "hitch"  the  other  one,  then?" 
"  That  was  not  strong  enough  to  draw  the  train." 
I  do  not,  at  this  moment,  ask  the  Conductor  why  he 
failed  to  make  both  locomotives  fast  to  our  train  of  stores, 
and  bring  its  valuable  freight  out  of  the  Brashear  City 
depot.  Of  little  account  are  questions  of  any  sort,  at  this 
stage  of  events;  since  I  have  learned  the  main,  dis- 
astrous fact,  that  our  base  of  supplies  and  safety  is  now 
in  rebel  possession.  Cut  off  and  isolated;  my  feeble 
post  menaced  in  front  and  rear;  I  am  now  to  consider 
the  immediate  peril  of  my  own  situation. 

Very  soon  I  get  definite  accounts  of  the  morning's  oc- 
currences at  the  Bay.  My  Quartermaster,  Lieut  Kimhall, 
reports;  bringing  wagons  containing  his  own  effects,  with 
some  regimental  property,  and  a  few  trunks.  Toussaint, 
George,  and  John,  my  servants,  arrive  next,  and  present- 
ly, numbers  of  fugitives,  soldiers  and  non-combatants, 
flock  in  by  highway  and  railroad.  The  loss  of  Brashear 
is  confirmed;  and  the  details  thereof  take  shape  under 
voluble  narration  of  a  hundred  tongues. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  139 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

REBEL    SCHEMES. 

GATHERING  on  the  Louisianian  borders,  from  Red  River 
regions  above  Shreveport,  far  down  to  Sabine  banks,  and, 
lower  still,  to  the  pine-woods  and  marshes  that  trend 
upon  waters  of  the  Gulf,  the  rebel  hordes,  under  various 
leaders,  ranged  over  prairies  and  timber  bottoms.  Gen- 
eral "Dick  Taylor,"  son  of  old  "Rough  and  Ready," 
commanded  the  Texan  mounted  infantry,  which,  in  regi- 
ments, "  legions,"  and  partisan  bands,  had  crossed  the 
Sabine  at  Niblett's  Bluff,  and  occupied  extensive  open 
tracts  lyingbetween  the  rivers  Calcasieu  and  Atchafalaya. 
General  Mouton,  brother  to  a  former  governor  of  Louis- 
iana, collecting  all  the  refugees  from  New  Orleans  and 
lower  regions  of  the  Mississippi ;  all  the  Creoles  and 
"Cagians"  who  could  be  coaxed  or  conscripted,  from 
bayou-banks  and  swampish  lands  ;  made  his  rendezvous 
at  Alexandria,  and  thence  co-operated  with  Taylor's  bat- 
talions. Both  armies,  it  is  true,  fell  back  before  the  ad- 
vance of  General  Banks,  when  that  Federal  commander- 
in-chief  made  his  rapid  march  from  Brashear  City  up  the 
Teche,  ascending  to  Alexandria,  and  thence  diverging  to 
Port  Hudson.  But  when,  I  say  they  fell  back,  I  say  all 
that  can  be  said.  They  were  neither  dispersed  nor  de- 
moralized. Town  by  town,  they  contested  our  progress 
through  the  Teche  country  ;  abandoning  Franklin  after  a 
hard-fought  battle ;  evacuating  New  Iberia  after  destroy- 
ing their  flotilla  and  defences ;  retreating  from  Alexan- 


140          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

dria,  only  when  Admiral  Porter's  guns  and  mortars  had 
rendered  it  untenable.  But  the  numerical  damage  which 
they  sustained  was  slight,  and  their  war-spirit  seemed  to 
wax  rather  than  wane  before  our  advancing  stars.  No 
sooner  did  General  Banks  wheel  his  army  Mississippi- 
ward,  than  this  war-spirit  blazed  behind  him.  Partisans 
and  guerrillas  sprang  up  on  his  flanks  ubiquitously. 
Nomad  horsemen  hung  about  and  harrassed  his  wagon- 
trains,  made  sorties  on  his  rear -guard,  captured  his  strag- 
glers, ambushed  his  scouts.  In  Lower  Louisiana,  we  saw 
them  following  Col.  Chickering's  caravan  of  cattle  and 
contrabands  almost  to  the  guns  of  Brashear ;  and  had 
they  been  as  enterprising  as  our  escort  was  actually 
feeble,  they  might  have  retaken  the  "  spoil,'*  and 
"bagged"  its  custodians.  In  Upper  Louisiana,  at  the 
same  time,  they  were  dashing  down  from  the  Arkansas 
lines,  to  attack  Richmond  and  Lake  Providence  ;  while 
General  Banks,  re-crossing  the  Atchafalaya,  abandoned 
all  the  lately-captured  territory,  to  find  his  resources 
barely  equal  to  the  close  investment  of  Port  Hudson. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  affairs,  when  General  "  Dick 
Taylor,"  from  his  camps  between  Vermillionville  and 
Franklin,  on  the  Teche,  and  General  Mouton,  from  his 
headquarters  near  Opelousas,  flung  out  their  advances  in 
the  shape  of  cavalry  and  light  artillery,  under  command 
of  chosen  leaders,  charged  with  no  less  a  design  than  to 
open  the  way  for  a  combined  assault  on  New  Orleans. 
General  Taylor  had  planned,  and  General  Mouton  ordered, 
that  Col.  Major,  with  his  brigade,  should  cross  the  Atcha- 
falaya, at  Morgan's  Ferry,  proceed  down  Bayou  Gros 
Tete,  to  Plaquemine,  strike  off  to  Bayou  Lafourche,  and 
then  descend  the  banks  of  that  water  course  to  the  rear 
of  Brashear  City.  We  have  seen  how  Major  fulfilled  his 
mission  ;  when,  after  burning  a  half-dozen  steamboats  at 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  141 

Plaquemine,  and  chasing  our  provost-guards  out  of  Thi- 
bodeaux,  he  charged  against  stouter  stuff  at  Lafourche 
Crossing,  and  fell  back  with  a  loss  of  some  hundreds. 
That  was  the  hour  when  he  should  have  been  followed  up 
by  strong  reinforcements  from  New  Orleans.  That  was 
the  moment  when  a  couple  of  gunboats  and  another  regi- 
ment ought  to  have  arrived,  by  way  of  sea,  to  the  succor 
of  Brashear  City.  Why  these  things  were  not  done,  or 
whether,  in  reality,  there  was  force  enough  at  New  Or- 
leans to  have  accomplished  either,  has  never  transpired 
through  official  sources,  and,  therefore,  the  good  public 
must  remain  profoundly  ignorant  upon  the  subject. 
But,  if  .the  Crescent  City  was  actually  so  denuded  of 
strength  as  to  be  unable  to  cover  her  approaches,  or  pro- 
tect her  outposts,  then  it  must  be  concluded  that  Port 
Hudson  was,  at  that  time,  of  more  importance  than  New 
Orleans,  and  that  the  former,  instead  of  the  latter,  had 
properly  absorbed  the  attention  of  our  generals  and  their 
soldiers. 

There  is  no  flippancy  in  this  remark;  for  it  cannot  be 
denied,  that  New  Orleans  was  vitally  endangered  by  the 
concentration  and  descent  of  rebel  armies  upon  its  rear 
and  flank  ;  thus  giving  to  our  foes  the  occupation  of  a 
great  railway  means  of  transportation,  a  country  able  to 
subsist  their  largest  force,  and  a  population  in  sympathy 
with  their  cause. 

While  Col.  Major  was  performing  his  share  of  the  work 
allotted  to  subordinate  rebel  leaders,  Gen.  "  Tom  Green," 
proceeded  down  the  Teche  to  Pattersonville,  and  thence 
started  his  "  musquito  fleet"  for  operations  against 
Brashear  City.  The  "musquito  fleet"  was  a  unique 
armada,  consisting  of  improvised  transportation,  in  the 
shape  of  "sugar-coolers,"  which  are  long  coffin-like 
wooden  boxes,  used,  as  the  name  implies,  on  plantations, 


142         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

as  receptacles  of  the  syrup  during  the  process  of  its 
manufacture  into  sugar  A  multitude  of  these  vessels, 
capable  of  conveying  one  or  two  men,  with  the  addition 
of  such  rafts  as  could  be  constructed,  and  a  few  skiffs, 
made  up  the  flotilla,  whereby  some  three  hundred  armed 
men  were  enabled  to  cross  the  Atchafalaya,  navigate 
Grand  Lake,  and  debouch  through  Lake  Pelourde  and 
Flat  Lake,  to  the  rear  of  Brashear. 

Thus  matters  stood  on  Monday,  the  twenty-second  of 
June.  The  contemplated  assault,  planned  by  General 
Green,  is  to  be  made  in  conjunction  with  an  anticipated 
advance  of  Major,  with  his  force,  upon  the  railroad 
stations  still  held  by  our  American  soldiers.  Communi- 
cation is  open,  across  the  back  country,  between  Major 
and  Green;  and  the  latter  knows  the  force  and  intentions 
of  his  coadjutor.  Green  does  not  yet  know  that  Major 
has  been  repulsed  atLafourche  Crossing;  nor  is  he  aware 
that  the  dashing  cavalry-chief  has  evacuated  Thibodeaux, 
and  is  hurrying  with  his  ragged  riders,  from  Terrebonne 
to  Chickahoula,  believing  himself  pursued  by  reinforce- 
ments of  Federals  from  New  Orleans,  Green  does  not 
know,  and,  unfortunately,  our  troops  at  Lafourche  Cros- 
sing, and  the  commandant  at  New  Orleans,  do  not  know, 
that  Col.  Major  deems  himself  cut  off  from  retreat  by  way 
of  Thibodeaux,  and  relies  solely  on  the  success  of  an 
attack  on  Brashear,  to  enable  him  to  make  his  way  out  of 
the  dangerous  trap  into  which  he  begins  to  fear  that  he 
has  ridden  too  hastily.  Had  this  fact — for  it  is  a  fact — 
been  suspected  by  Lieut. -Col.  Stickney,  at  Lafourche 
Crossing,  or  by  my  brave  Major  Morgans,  who,  about  this 
time,  is  getting  ready  for  a  dash,  with  our  gallant  "  Iron- 
sides "  boys,  into  Thibodeaux,  I  am  sure  they  would 
have  profited  by  the  occasion,  and  lost  no  time  in  bring- 
ing a  few  regiments  from  New  Orleans,  by  rail,  to  hang 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  143 

upon  the  rear  of  Major  and  his  mustangs.  But,  they  fail 
to  learn,  or  to  benefit  by,  the  terror  of  their  late  assailants, 
and,  in  their  turn,  as  it  subsequently  appears,  become 
the  victims  of  a  panic,  which  sends  them  to  the  "  right- 
about, M  in  the  direction  of  Algiers. 

All  designs  being  matured  by  "  Tom  Green,"  for  his 
project  against  Brashear,  the  assault  is  fixed  for  day- 
break on  the  morning  of  Tuesday,  twenty-third  of  June. 
Green  demands  two  hundred  and  fifty  volunteers  for 
secret  and  hazardous  service.  Over  three  hundred 
respond,  and  are  placed  under  command  of  Major  Hunter, 
an  officer  who  has  seen  rough  service  on  the  western 
frontiers  of  Texas.  Major  Hunter  comprehends  the  work 
that  is  expected  of  him.  He  is  to  paddle  his  "mus- 
quito  fleet,"  at  dusk  of  evening,  through  the  chain  of 
lakes  that  penetrates  behind  Brashear  City.  He  is  to 
land  secretly  near  a  previously-reconnoitred  point,  in  the 
rear  of  that  timber-belt  which  makes  a  back-ground  for 
Brashear,  as  Berwick  Bay  makes  its  fore-ground.  He  is 
to  approach  to  the  edge  of  that  timber,  whence  he  can 
overlook  the  Federal  camps  and  batteries.  He  will  wait 
in  that  position,  till  Green,  from  the  opposite  bay-shore, 
shall  begin  the  assault  by  a  bombardment.  Then,  when 
the  attention  of  Yankee  officers  and  men  shall  be  ab- 
sorbed by  the  attack  in  front,  Major  Hunter  is  to  lead 
out  his  braves  from  their  cover,  and,  with  Texan  yells, 
dash  down  upon  and  capture  Brashear  City. 

How  well  the  crafty  rebel  commander,  "  Tom  Green," 
advised  by  numerous  spies  concerning  our  weakness,  our 
disorganization,  and  our  carelessness,  adapts  his  plans 
to  insure  their  complete  success!  Neither  Maj.  Hunter, 
nor  any  member  of  his  "  forlorn  hope  "  has  been  informed 
regarding  the  feeble  condition  of  Brashear.  It  is  for 
them  to  obey  orders,  and  to  essay  what  they  deem 


144  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

a  desperate  enterprise.  I  have  the  word  of  many  rebels, 
who  were  of  the  number  of  that  "musquito-fleet"  force, 
that  they  never  expected  to  return  alive,  unless  as  paroled 
prisoners-of-war.  Starting  in  their  crazy  water-craft, 
about  three  hundred  strong,  at  least  fifty  gave  out,  either 
on  the  lake,  or  in  the  toilsome  march  which  followed  their 
debarkation.  These  were  the  men  and  boats  reported  to 
me,  as  having  been  seen,  about  sunset,  crossing  a  section 
of  Lake  Pelourde,  and  whose  appearance  and  suspected 
design,  I  had,  in  turn,  reported  to  Major  Anthony  at 
Brashear  City.  From  my  post,  at  Bayou  Boeuff,  there 
was  no  means  of  reaching  or  opposing  them.  I  knew  not, 
at  that  time,  but  that  their  design  was  to  threaten  my 
own  position,  by  effecting  a  landing  at  some  point  above 
me,  on  the  Boeuff;  I  learn,  long  afterwards,  while,  a 
prisoner  in  Texas,  that  the  original  plan  of  approaches 
proposed  an  attack,  in  conjunction  with  Major's  expected 
force,  first  upon  my  slight  defences,  and  afterwards  upon 
the  rear  of  Brashear. 

But  whatever  may  have  been  the  expectations  of  Gen- 
eral Green,  it  is  certain  that  Major  Hunter's  men,  creep- 
ing under  darkness,  through  swamps,  up  to  their  belts 
in  mire,  for  several  miles,  toward  the  edge  of  timber 
which  commanded  Brashear  City,  were  not  inspired  with 
very  sanguine  hopes  of  victory  over  Yankees.  It  is  posi- 
tive, moreover,  that  these  rebel  raiders,  having  at  last 
reached,  about  midnight,  a  point  whence  they  could  look 
out,  over  open  fields,  and.  spy  what  appeared  to  be  the 
encampment  of  a  large  army,  were  suddenly  impressed 
with  a  panic  quite  as  sensible  as  that  which,  about  the 
same  time,  was  urging  Col.  Major  into  a  gallop  from 
Terrebonne  to  Chickahoula.  Those  white  tents,  stretch- 
ing along  the  bay-shore,  like  a  great  town  of  canvass ; 
the  fort,  at  their  right,  which  they  knew  to  be  heavily 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  145 

mounted;  the  silence  brooding  over  all,  giving  their 
hearts  space  to  b^at  audibly  against  their  lean  ribs;  all 
combined  to  make  our  rebel  adventurers  feel  lonesome 
and  uncomfortable.  They  had  anticipated  the  hour  when 
"  Tom  Green"  was  to  fire  his  signal-guns.  They  heard 
no  sound  of  co-operation  from  the  Berwick  shore.  The 
dread  of  being  "  trapped"  took  possession  of  them,  and 
in  spite  of  Major  Hunter's  commands  and  entreaties,  they 
abruptly  broke  and  fled  back,  through  woods  and  swamps, 
till  they  gained  once  more  their  "  musquito-fleet."  There 
the  chagrined  commander  succeeded  in  getting  them  to 
halt  and  listen  to  him.  There,  as  I  have  been  credibly 
informed,  that  bold  Hunter  made  use  of  some  tolerably 
big  oaths,  in  the  way  of  illustrating  his  harrangue  to  them. 
"  We  may  all  be  shot,"  he  cried,  imploring  them  to  re- 
trace their  steps.  "Not  one  of  us  may  get  back  to  the 
brigade  ;  but,  gentlemen,  we'd  better  just  fall  down  in 
our  tracks  than  go  back  disgraced,  and  have  old  Tom 
Green  tell  us  so  !M  All  stronger  words  of  the  rebel 
leader,  I  leave  to  be  imagined;  but  the  result  of  his 
speech  was,  that  the  "  forlorn  hope,'*  minus  a  few  strag. 
glers,  returned  with  him,  and  struck  the  timber,  long 
after  Green's  howitzers  had  begun  their  barking  from 
the  Berwick  shore. 


146          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  CAPTURE  OF    BRASHEAR  CITY. 

DAYBREAK  on  the  twenty-third  day  of  July,  1863,  was 
ushered  upon  Brashear  City  by  the  roar  of  those  rebel 
howitzers  which  "  Tom  Green"  had  promised  his  "  forlorn 
hope"  should  announce  his  presence  upon  the  Berwick 
shore.  Our  startled  garrison  of  Fort  liuchanan  hurried 
from  tents  to  bomb-proof  magazines,  and  a  brisk  exchange 
of  shot  and  shell  soon  opened  the  battle  in  earnest.  But 
little  apprehension  was  felt  by  the  Americans  of  aught 
beyond  a  cannon-bout  being  intended  by  the  enemy  ;  for 
it  presently  become  apparent  that  the  assaulting  forct. 
was  not  numerically  strong,  while  the  calibre  of  its  artil- 
lery was  much  inferior  to  that  of  our  heavy  siege-pieces. 
No  means  of  transportation  appeared  at  hand,  threatening 
any  design  to  cross  Berwick  Bay  ;  and  such  an  attempt, 
indeed,  under  the  range  of  our  cannon  and  musketry  on 
land,  and  a  flanking  fire  from  the  gunboat,  would  have 
been  hazardous,  if  not  impracticable,  to  a  much  larger 
hostile  army. 

But,  as  I  have  stated  previously,  the  crafty  rebels  had 
found  means  of  transportation  in  another  quarter,  and 
were  at  this  hour  advancing  stealthily  on  Brashear  City 
through  the  woods  and  swamps  at  its  rear.  Meanwhile, 
General  Taylor,  at  his  headquarters  near  Pattersonville, 
and  General  Mouton,  at  Gibbons'  Point,  opposite  Fort 
Buchanan,  were  awaiting  the  success  of  Green's  cannon- 
ade, to  advance  the  bulk  of  their  forces  toward  Berwick 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  147 

City.  General  Mouton's  immediate  strength  consisted  of 
two  Texan  regiments,  and  an  Arizonian  battalion,  most  of 
them  sharp.-shooters,  who  were  posted  so  as  to  command 
the  Federal  fort  and  direct  their  fire  upon  its  artillery 
men.  About  a  mile  below,  sheltered  by  woods  and  by  a 
mound  near  the  shore,  "  Tom  Green"  brought  his  two 
batteries  (Valverde  and  Nichols)  to  bear  upon  the  Bra- 
shear  camps,  while  his  own  regiment,  the  Fifth  Texas, 
and  a  battalion  of  Louisiana  cavalry  under  Col.  Walker, 
supported  the  guns  with  their  small  arms. 

The  first  rebel  shot  was  launched  at  our  gunboat, 
mounting  two  twelve-pound  howitzers,  and  commanded 
by  a  person  named  Ryder,  who,  in  the  words  of  Admiral 
Farragut's  subsequent  report,  "  is  not  represented  to 
have  been  any  more  vigilant  than  the  rest,  and  backed 
down  the  bay." 

That  gun-shot  was  the  alarum  of  our  little  garrison.  In 
a  brief  space  the  grey  of  morn  became  illumined  by  a 
blaze  which  leaped  from  opposing  shores  of  the  bay. 
From  the  blackened  walls  of  burned  buildings  at  Ber- 
wick landing,  far  up  to  Gibbons'  Point,  where  a  thousand 
rifles  were  cracking,  the  rebel  side  delivered  continuous 
volleys  of  bullets  and  discharges  of  shot  and  shells  ; 
while,  on  our  part,  we  were  not  backward  in  pouring  iron 
and  lead  from  the  fort  and  lower  batteries.  The  screech- 
ing and  whistling  of  various  missiles,  the  barking  of  sin- 
gle muskets,  the  rattle  of  volleys,  and  the  boom  of  great 
pieces,  soon  brought  every  sleeper  out  of  his  bunk  or 
bed,  and  the  water-front  of  Brashear  was  speedily  alive 
with  defenders.  Few  showed  themselves,  indeed,  in  the 
range  of  rebel  fire  ;  but  there  were  plenty  of  "  coigns  of 
Vantage,"  in  the  shape  of  big  trees,  cook-houses,  walls, 
and  embankments;  and  from  behind  these  points  of 
shelter  our  brave  fellows  plied  their  shots  effectually  ; 


148         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

till,  after  two  hours'  interchange  of  courtesies  between 
infantry  and  artillery  of  both  sides,  the  rebel  fire  began 
to  slacken,  and  their  pieces  were  more  than  once  driven 
from  position. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  a  yell  arose,  in  the  rear ;  a 
mingling  of  Indian  whoop  and  wolf-howl ;  the  charging- 
cry  of  Major  Hunter  and  his  ragged  desperadoes,  break, 
ing  cover  from  the  woods  behind  our  camps  ;  advancing 
at  double-quick  over  the  open  fields  that  intervened  be- 
tween shore  and  timber. 

Their  line  of  battle  was  an  irregular  one ;  a  sort  of 
involuntary  echelon,  perhaps  the  result  of  unequal  march- 
ing, perhaps  caused  by  the  inequalities  of  ploughed  ground 
and  stubble  which  impeded  them.  But  the  flanks  of 
their  different  companies  were  separated  by  wide  gaps, 
and  their  ranks  were,  broken  in  somo  places  by  intervals 
wide  enough  for  skirmishing.  On  they  came,  scarcely 
two  hundred  and  fifty  men,  armed  with  shot-guns,  rifles, 
and  a  few  revolvers.  One  solid  company  of  United  States 
dragoons  could  have  ridden  down  and  dispersed  them 
like  sheep.  One  hundred  determined  infantry-men, 
under  a  resolute  commander,  meeting  them  in  line  of 
battle,  might  have  scattered  th^  motley  crew  by  a  couple 
of  well-aimed  volleys.  Had  there  been  common  militia- 
organization  ;  had  a  tithe  of  the  able-bodied  idlers  of 
various  camps  been  thrown  upon  the  flanks  of  this  rebel 
rabble,  with  our  howitzers  trained  upon  their  front,  they 
must  have  bitten  the  dust,  or  surrendered,  every  one  of 
them,  before  they  could  have  gained  our  camp  lines. 

But  the  attack  meets  no  sustained  resistance.  Before 
our  straggling  and  unomcered  squads  can  be  brought  into 
any  line  of  defence,  the  left  flank  of  rebel  advance  reaches 
the  cover. of  an  orange  grove  near  the  almost  vacant  tents 
of  the  176th  New  York  ("  Ironsides")  and  23d  Connecticut 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  149 

regiments,  while  its  right  extends  toward  Fort  Buchanan. 
Dashing  into  the  rearmost  company  streets,  they  discharge 
their  pistols  into  our  canvass  walls.  From  the  thick 
orange-growth  they  deliver  sharp  and  sudden  volleys 
of  slugs  and  bullets.  An  officer  of  my  regiment,  Captain 
Thomason,  endeavors  to  rally  a  small  detachment,  between 
our  camp  and  the  one  at  our  rear,  now  filled  with  rebels. 
He  brings  them  into  some  order,  and  fires  a  brace  of 
volleys,  which  have  little  effect  upon  the  scattered  foe. 
Col.  Nott,  rising  from  his  invalid's  couch,  shows  himself 
to  the  men,  mounted,  and  orders  them  into  line,  but  the 
command  comes  too  late  for  organization.  Our  brave 
fellows,  magnifying  the  numbers  of  the  invaders,  and  be- 
wildered by  total  lack  of  preparation  and  the  complete 
surprise,  begin  to  drop  back,  doggedly,  firing  single 
shots,  as  they  seek  the  shelter  of  neighboring  buildings, 
For  a  few  minutes,  this  sort  of  skirmishing  is  kept  up ; 
the  rebels,  meantime,  occupying  themselves  in  ransack- 
ing the  tents  in  their  possession.  Col.  Nott  calls  upon 
those  nearest  to  follow,  and  rides  toward  the  depot,  where 
the  locomotives  are  fired  up,  intending  to  run  one  to 
Bayou  Bo3uff,  and,  perhaps,  escape  from  that  point,  by 
means  of  the  gunboat.  But  his  long  illness  and  inactivity 
have  rendered  him  feeble,  and,  on  reaching  the  door  of 
our  hospital,  about  two  hundred  yards  distant,  he  falls, 
fainting,  from  his  horse.  It  is  a  fortunate  accident,  for 
bullets  now  begin  to  fly  thickly  on  the  road,  and  a  negro 
woman  is  shot  in  front  of  the  hospital,  just  as  our  Colonel 
sinks  exhausted. 

In  the  meantime,  desultory  fighting  goes  on  at  various 
points.  Two  companies  of  the  "  Ironsides"  regiment, 
garrisoning  Fort  Buchanan,  becoming  apprised  of  an  inva- 
sion from  the  timber,  get  impatient  to  take  part  as  in- 
fantry in  the  contest.  Stout  and  gallant  boys,  from  Mad- 


150  TWENTY   MONTHS   IN    THE 

ison  county,  they  comprehend  that,  when  an  enemy  is  at 
hand,  some  immediate  resistance  is  called  for.  They 
have  been  working  steadily,  during  two  hours,  at  the 
siege-guns,  directing  all  attention  to  the  Berwick  shore 
foe,  and  little  anticipating  a  fire  in  their  rear.  Now, 
aware  of  the  new  peril,  and  conscious  of  the  exposed  posi- 
tion of  the  fort  to  a  land  attack,  they  expect  to  be  led  at 
once  against  the  rebels.  But  to  whom  shall  they  look 
for  orders  ?  Captain  Noblett,  artillery  chief,  with  the 
ostensible  design  of  procuring  more  ammunition,  has  long 
ago  mounted  his  horse  and  ridden  to  the  depot.  At  this 
moment,  just  as  the  rebels  show  themselves  in  the 
orange  grove  near  our  camps,  this  artillery  commander 
rolls  from  his  steed,  the  animal  being  shot,  and  makes 
the  best  of  his  way — not  back  to  his  command  at  Fort 
Buchanan — but  to  the  refuge  of  our  hospital.  Perhaps 
he  deems  it  madness  to  attempt  the  running  of  a  two 
mile  gauntlet  of  sharp-shooters,  in  order  to  rejoin  his  In- 
diana battery  boys.  Very  possibly,  like  other  officers,  he 
comes  to  the  conclusion  that  "  all  is  lost  but  honor,"  and 
that  "  sauve  quipeut?"1  is  the  motto  for  everybody. 

Left  to  his  own  discretion,  Lieutenant  Wellington,  of 
the  "Ironsides,"  tries  to  make  some  dispositions  for 
defence.  The  large  guns  of  Fort  Buchanan,  mounted  en 
barbette,  are  too  ponderous  to  handle,  for  the  purpose  of 
directing  them  to  the  rear.  With  great  exertion,  one 
piece  is  dislodged  from  its  position,  warped  to  the  rear, 
by  means  of  ropes  manned  by  our  soldiers,  and  brought 
into  range  upon  the  land-side.  It  is  about  this  juncture 
of  affairs  that  Major  Anthony  appears  at  the  fort,  and 
begins  to  take  some  direction  of  them.  He  has  galloped 
under  a  shower  of  bullets  from  the  railroad  depot.  He 
has  seen  his  valiant  confrere,  Captain  Noblett,  dismounted, 
by  the  fire  that  left  him  scathless.  He  has  marked  the 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  151 

>ebel  force  advancing,  in  its  irregular  fragments.  Now, 
if  he  will  rally  our  Madison  "boys,  and  the  artillery  men, 
at  least  a  hundred  in  all,  perhaps  more,  he  may  mak«  a 
flank  movement  upon  the  exultant  rebels,  and  form  a 
nucleus  for  our  scattered  squads  to  rally  upon.  Lieut. 
Wellington  assures  him  that  his  men  are  ready  and  eager ; 
that  they  demand  to  be  led  against  the  enemy.  But 
unfortunately  our  Major's  view  of  the  proper  policy  is  a 
different  one.  Very  likely,  if  he  saw  around  him  a 
hundred,  or  less,  of  troopers  in  their  saddles,  with  sabres 
drawn,  and  pistols  in  holsters,  our  gallant  major-com- 
mandant of  Brashear  City  would  have  given  the  word  for 
a  dash  upon  the  rebels,  were  they  double  the  number 
opposed  to  him.  But,  there  are  no  cavalry  at  hand;  no 
rough  riders  to  follow  his  bright  sabre  and  ringing  voice. 
So,  Major  Anthony  adopts  the  role,  of  Fabius  rather  than 
that  of  Marcellus.  He  orders  the  heavy  gun  to  be  trans* 
ported  out  of  the  fort  to  a  point  about  half-a-mile  lower, 
upon  a  road,  leading  to  our  camps  and  the  railroad.  Here, 
placed  in  position,  and  worked  by  our  willing  men,  it 
launches  some  telling  shots  against  the  rebels,  who  have 
possession  of  the  camps  and  are  approaching  the  main 
street  and  water  front  of  Brashear. 

While  these  dispositions  were  made  at  the  upper  part 
of  the  city,  some  show  of  defence  continued  near  the  rail- 
road depot.  The  rebels,  swooping  down  upon  our  conval- 
escent camps,  made  short  work  of  the  few  who  ventured 
opposition.  Few  indeed  were  these ;  for  even  had  the 
able-bodied  of  our  convalescents  been  disposed  to  fight, 
they  had  neither  arms,  ammunition,  nor  officers  to  direct 
them.  Two  or  three  lieutenants  and  sergeants,  with 
small  squads,  attempted  to  rally  the  hundreds  who  were 
flying  to  and  fro,  seeking  cover;  but  their  efforts  could 
not,  at  such  a  stage  of  panic,  combine  the  materials  that 


152          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

had  been  allowed  to  remain  disintegrated  during  months. 
Dozens  of  men  were  shot  down  by  the  rebels  unresisting- 
ly. In  so  wild  a  melee,  amid  yells  and  the  rattle  of 
musketry,  and  encompassed  by  clouds  of  smoke,  the  foe 
could  hardly  discriminate,  even  were  he  desirous  of  so 
doing,  between  the  sick  and  well,  the  armed  and  un- 
armed. 

One  of  our  "Ironsides"  captains,  who  has  been  con- 
fined to  his  quarters  by  sickness,  sallies  into  the  street, 
and  essays  to  get  a  body  of  stragglers  into  order.  He 
succeeds  in  bringing  ten  or  fifteen  together  in  line,  when 
a  rebel  company  charges  upon  them,  with  the  bayonet- 
Captain  Cutter,  a  cool  and  bold  man,  gives  the  signal  to 
fall  back,  to  secure  a  better  position ;  but  the  enemy  is 
close  upon  them,  and  a  Texan  summons  him  to  give  up 
his  sword  "I  never  surrender!"  answers  Cutter,  in 
his  deliberate  way;  whereupon  he  is  immediately  shot 
through  the  head,  and  falls  dead ;  yielding  up  as  gallant 
a  soul  as  ever  made  Liberty  the  goal  of  ambition. 

While  these  events  were  transpiring,  a  stand  had  been 
made  by  Lieut.  Stevenson,  "  of  ours,"  commanding  the 
provost-guard  of  Brashear  City.  This  brave  officer  had 
charge  of  a  twenty-four  pounder,  which,  after  doing  good 
service  against  Green's  batteries,  over  the  bay,  was 
wheeled  into  position  for  operating  against  the  "  surprise 
party"  at  our  rear.  With  Lieut.  Stevenson,  at  this  post, 
remained  Sergeant  Deming,  of  his  company,  a  young 
private  named  Newlan,  and  two  other  members  of  my 
regiment.  These  resolute  fellows  stood  to  the  gun,  till, 
completely  environed  by  foes,  they  became  a  target  for 
bullets.  Four  out  of  the  five,  including  the  lieutenant, 
were  shot  down,  before  their  piece  was  captured. 

But  such  isolated  and  desperate  endeavor;  such  frag- 
mentary struggles  of  indignant  courage  against  the  fate 


DEPAETMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  153 

which  no  wise  foresight  had  anticipated,  and  no  prudent 
preparation  provided  against,  could  only  serve  to  protract 
suspense.  The  first  panic  of  our  feeble  and  disorganized 
regimental  remnants  had  decided  victory  in  favor  of  the 
daring  foe.  Well  must  the  crafty  Green  have  calculated 
upon  our  demoralization  and  incapacity.  Cruel  was  the 
neglect,  wherever  its  responsibility  may  lie,  which  left 
our  little  garrison  to  meet  the  brunt  of  a  hostile  assault, 
backed  by  at  least  ten  thousand  rebels,  under  competent 
generals. 

Flushed  with  his  triumph,  achieved  at  small  expense, 
and  promising  brilliant  results  in  plunder,  Major  Hunter 
presents  himself  presently  before  our  own  Major  at  the 
upper  batteries.  The  post-commandant  is  summoned  to 
surrender  Brashear  City.  It  is  a  superfluous  demand, 
doubtless,  on  the  part  of  the  Texan,  since  he  can  see  for 
himself  that  no  further  resistance  i»  contemplated;  but 
he  asks,  furthermore,  that  our  post-commandant  shall 
surrender  fleet  as  well  as  army ;  our  notable  gun-boat,  as 
well  as  our  convalescents  and  runaways.  Major  Anthony 
casts  his  glance  down  the  bay,  and  beholds  the  war- 
vessel's  black  smoke  streaming  backward  toward  Bra- 
shear,  as  her  engines  propel  her  with  all  speed  out  of  the 
harbor.  He  remarks  forcibly  to  the  Texan  Major,  that 
he  wishes  the  recreant  gun-boat  could  be  caught  by  him, 
with  the  wretched  poltroon  who  commands  her. 

And,  after  this  ebullition  of  spirit,  the  preliminaries  of 
peace  are  adjusted,  and  the  city  of  Brashear,  with  its 
appurtenances,  passes  once  more  into  rebel  possession. 


154          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS. 

IN  the  homely  vernacular  of  our  boys,  this  June 
morning,  "Brashear  City  has  gone  up!"  Fugitives  con- 
tinue to  pour  into  my  lines.  Our  Quartermaster,  nervous 
and  timid,  asks  me,  a  dozen  times,  if  there  is  no  way  of 
retreat ;  if  the  gun-boat  may  not  be  expected;  if  I  think 
the  Federals  at  Lafourche  can  send  us  succors.  Negroes, 
arriving  by  the  Brashear  roads,  bring  incoherent  stories, 
concerning  a  massacre  by  the  rebels  of  many  hundreds 
of  the  blacks.  A  report  comes  that  the  bay  gun-boat  has 
been  seen  in  the  Boeuff,  and  may  be  expected  here 
during  the  day.  Numberless  rumors,  regarding  the 
force  and  designs  of  our  enemies,  reach  us  continually. 

I  make  up  my  mind  to  the  conviction  that  an  advance 
of  rebels  may  be  apprehended  immediately  from  the  bay. 
I  already  know  what  is  to  be  looked  for  by  the  approaches 
from  Tigerville ;  a  column  of  cavalry,  with  artillery  to 
back  it.  Here,  now,  the  precarious  and  indefensible 
condition  of  this  post  becomes  yet  more  apparent.  My 
three  siege-pieces  and  a  brass  howitzer  must  not  only 
defend  the  bridge  against  enemies  on  the  opposing 
bayou-bank,  but  are  required  to  withstand  whatever  force 
may  be  sent  from  Brashear  City  against  us.  I  have  one 
outpost  only  intervening  between  the  bay  and  my  camp. 
Captain  Hopkins,  of  the  Twenty-Third  Connecticut  Vol- 
unteers, is  stationed  at  Bayou  Eamos,  three  miles  from 
the  BoDuff,  and  nearly  six  miles  this  side  of  Brashear 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  155 

The  rebels  must  cross  a  bridge  at  Bayou  Ramos.  Captain 
Hopkins  may  be  able  to  oppose  them  at  that  point. 

Rapidly  reflecting  upon  our  situation,  I  conceive  and 
as  quickly  dismiss  various  plans  of  defence.  There  is  a 
narrow  water-channel  crossing  the  railway,  about  two 
miles  below  the  Boeuff.  Woody  swamps  extend  on  either 
side  of  this  "  Alligator  Bayou,"  rending  it  inaccessible 
save  by  the  railroad  or  in  boats.  Could  I  reach  and 
fortify  the  bridge-crossing  of  this  bayou,  and  secure 
supplies  of  rations,  I  might  hold  the  point  against  any 
force.  Or,  with  flat  boats  for  transportation,  I  might 
retreat  up  the  Boauff,  and  there  fortify  in  the  swamp. 
But  the  lack  of  means  to  transport  artillery  over  the  rail* 
or  by  water,  admonishes  me  that  both  these  schemes  are 
impracticable,  in  the  face  of  an  advancing  enemy.  Neither 
have  I  provisions  of  food  or  medical  stores.  The  men  of 
my  own  regiment  here  possess  scarcely  one  day's  rations. 
The  Connecticut  men  have  a  larger  supply,  but  not 
sufficient  for  many  days,  if  shared  with  all,  including 
hundreds  of  refugees,  white  and  black,  now  within  my 
lines.  Now  I  appreciate  the  consequences  of  leaving  our 
train  of  cars,  loaded  with  commissary  and  quartermaster's 
stores,  on  the  track  at  Brashear  City.  Had  the  locomo- 
tives, in  their  flight,  brought  off  that  store  train,  how 
amply  would  I  now  be  furnished  with  rations  and 
facilities  for  transportation.  With  two  locomotives  at 
my  command,  a  dozen  cars,  and  sufficient  supplies  to  last 
through  a  siege  of  months,  I  would  have  the  choice  of 
attempting  a  dash  upon  the  rail  toward  Terrebonne,  with 
the  hope  of  cutting  my  way  through  to  our  lines,  or  I 
might  select  some  point  to  fortify,  and  defy  the  efforts 
of  rebels  to  dislodge  me.  But  speculations  of  this  sort 
are  now  futile.  There  are  no  cars,  no  supplies,  within 


156  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

my  reach ;  and  all  the  flat-boats  on  the  Boeuff,  save  one, 
were  towed  to  Brashear,  last  Monday,  by  the  gun-boat. 

I  have,  then,  no  adequate  means  of  removal  from  this 
indefensible  place,  and  can  only  hope  to  make  a  brief 
stand  against  the  enemy.  On  this  stand,  however,  I 
determine,  at  once,  whatever  it  may  result  in;  and 
proceed,  thereupon,  to  make  the  best  dispositions  in  my 
power.  Dispatching  some  of  my  wild-riding  boys  to 
neighboring  plantations,  with  orders  to  impress  spades, 
picks,  and  log-chains,  I  proceed  to  mark  out  a  line  of 
intrenchment  on  the  Brashear  side  of  our  little  camp.  A 
simple  crescent  of  rifle  pits,  with  obstacles  and  abattis 
to  flank  them,  is  all  that  I  can  hope  to  interpose  against 
an  hourly  expected  advance  from  the  bay.  Two  siege- 
guns  commanding  the  bayou,  may  remain  as  they  are, 
and  the  remaining  one  is  already  in  position  on  the  rail- 
road and  pointed  in  the  direction  of  Brashear,  Present- 
ly, amid  great  shouting,  my  "Ironsides"  boys  return, 
accompanied  by  a  gang  of  blacks  from  the  plantations, 
who,  with  picks  and  spades,  have  volunteered  for  fatigue 
duty.  Ground  is  broken  instantly,  and  in  half  an  hour, 
I  get  a  well-defined  line  of  rifle-trenches  from  flank  to 
flank.  Leaving  the  negro-reliefs  to  dig,  under  supervision 
of  a  few  of  our  Connecticut  sergeants,  I  set  other  gangs 
to  cutting  down  and  hauling  orange-trees  from  a  grove 
near  by,  and  dragging  such  timber,  old  iron  machinery, 
and  other  lumber,  as  can  be  found  around  the  sugar  house, 
to  serve  as  defensive  impedimenta  for  our  flanks.  The 
single  brass  piece  I  place  in  our  rear,  so  that  it  can  be 
readily  shifted  to  either  right  or  left  of  the  rifle-pits. 
These  immediate  dispositions  made,  I  take  saddle  for  a 
reconnoissance  of  "the  situation." 

On  the  wide,  open  fields,  between  the  opposite  bayou- 
levee  and  a  timber-belt  that  makes  their  back-ground, 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  157 

stood  a  capacious  sugar  house,  once  the  depot  and  store- 
room of  an  extensive  plantation.  This  building  and  its 
surrounding  sheds  was  now  filled  with  army-supplies, 
officers'  trunks,  and  extra  baggage,  arms,  and  military 
appurtenances  of  all  kinds,  that  had  been  stored  under 
their  shelter  when  General  Banks  moved  his  army  across 
Berwick  Bay,  for  its  march  through  the  Attakapas  coun- 
try. The  estimated  value  of  articles  here  deposited, 
under  orders  from  Head  Quarters,  was,  at  the  least,  a 
half  million  of  dollars.  It  may  have  been  much  more ;  as 
the  trunks,  boxes,  desks,  and  such  receptacles  contained 
sums  of  money,  watches,  jewelry,  and  other  valuables, 
left  behind,  for  security  as  well  as  convenience,  by  our  ad- 
vancing troops.  The  regiments  to  whose  members  the 
private  property  belonged  were  now  at  Port  Hudson. 
They  had  never  been  enabled  to  reclaim  their  extra 
baggage,  and  it  consequently  remained  at  Bayou  Boauff, 
or  at  Algiers,  where  was  another  depot  of  the  kind. 

I  rode  to  an  open  door  of  the  sugar-house,  dismounted, 
and  entered.  A  few  enlisted  men,  detached  from  different 
regiments  to  guard  the  property,  were  lounging  round 
the  purlieus.  Bales  of  clothing,  muskets,  and  revolvers, 
were  piled  to  the  ceilings  of  the  lower  rooms.  Trunks, 
marked  with  the  names  of  various  officers  and  regiments, 
were  collected  in  ponderous  piles.  Some  of  these  ap- 
peared to  have  been  roughly  handled ;  many,  doubtless, 
had  been  tampered  with;  for  their  locks  were  broken 
and  lids  shattered.  Several  were  quite  open,  their 
contents  exposed,  in  the  shape  of  fine  linen,  new  dress 
coats,  and  luxurious  articles  generally.  I  had  time  only 
for  a  cursory  glance  at  the  interior,  but  I  could  readily 
see  that  this  sugar-house  depot  contained  most  valuable 
"aid  and  comfort"  for  ragged  rebels,  might  they  be  so 
fortunate  as  to  secure  possession  of  it. 


158          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

But  such  a  result  I  resolved  should  not  be  my  fault. 
I  did  not  intend  that  another  prize,  in  public  and  private 
plunder,  should  be  added  to  the  pillage  over  which  rebel 
capturers  were  now  exulting  at  Brashear  City.  From  a 
million  to  a  million  and  a  half  dollars  worth  of  rations, 
tents,  ammunition,  small  arms,  artillery,  and  medical 
stores,  is  the  estimate  made  of  the  prize  secured  by  sur- 
prize at  Brashear,  and  I  am  not  willing  that  another  mil- 
lion dollars'  worth,  or  thereabouts,  in  yet  more  accepta- 
ble supplies,  shall  be  gained  through  the  seizure  of  this 
sugar-house.  So,  with  a  sigh  over  the  necessary  sacri- 
fice, I  mentally  devote  the  baggage  of  brother  officers, 
and  all  government  stores  in  connection  therewith,  to  the 
flame  of  a  Federal  bonfire.  Giving  orders  at  once  for  the 
evacuation  of  the  buildings,  I  mount  and  ride  down  the 
bayou-bank. 

Straggling  negroes  are  coming  in  from  different  quar- 
ters. They  report  the  rebels  within  three  miles  of  the 
Bceuff,  at  a  plantation  on  the  lake.  I  gallop  to  the  doors 
of  negro  huts  and  houses  of  poor  whites  upon  the  bayou 
borders,  giving  notice  to  the  inmates  that  our  lines  will 
be  drawn  in  immediately.  Some  request  shelter  in  my 
camp  ;  others  conclude  to  "  take  their  chances"  with  the 
rebels.  I  can  easily  detect  the  concealed  sympathy 
which  many  feel  for  the  invaders.  Of  one  fellow  I  de- 
mand a  gun  which  I  spy  on  his  premises — a  United 
States  musket — and  he  rather  reluctantly  yields  it. 

But,  finding  myself  a  mile  or  more  from  camp,  and 
suddenly  remarking  that  I  have  left  my  revolver  behind, 
I  deem  it  prudent  to  retrace  my  course  rapidly.  A  com- 
mander "  gobbled"  by  rebel  scouts,  so  far  from  his  men, 
might  add  another  item  to  the  report  of  rebel  surprises. 
So,  cantering  back,  loaded  with  the  musket  and  its  cart- 
ridge-box, I  reach  and  cross  the  bridge  again. 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  159 

Work  is  progressing,  under  direction  of  our  Connecti- 
cut captains  and  the  artillerists.  The  rifle-pits  are  grow- 
ing deeper,  fatigue  squads  are  drawing  materials  for  frai1 
defenses,  and  I  find  the  gunners  posted  at  their  batteries> 
under  direction  of  Lieut.  Sherfy,  their  officer.  I  send  a 
message  to  Captain  Hopkins,  who  has  reported  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  force  at  his  front,  on  Bayou  Kamos.  He 
has  been  called  upon  to  surrender  his  post  to  General 
Green,  and  has  replied  to  the  Texan  chief,  that  he  has 
no  time  to  do  so.  I  direct  Captain  Hopkins  to  hold  his 
ground  as  long  as  possible ;  but  if  there  be  danger  of  the 
enemy  flanking  him,  to  burn  the  bridge  and  fall  back  to 
my  lines. 

The  day  wears  rapidly.  I  am  incessantly  active ;  most 
of  the  time  in  the  saddle ;  now  inspecting  the  rifle-pits, 
again  overseeing  our  flank-arrangements,  taking  note  of 
everything,  without  allowing  myself  opportunity  to  dwell 
upon  the  darker  features  of  our  situation.  When  noon 
arrives,  I  give  up  any  hope  that  the  gun-boat  will  appear. 
I  see  no  loop-hole  of  retreat  or  escape  from  the  BreufF, 
and  console  myself  simply  with  the  sullen  resolution  to 
make  as  long  resistance  as  possible,  in  view  of  the  bare 
possibility  that  assistance  may  arrive  from  New  Orleans. 
If  my  courier,  Sergeant  Lewis,  shall  succeed  in  gaining 
our  lines,  at  Lafourche,  there  is  still  a  faint  hope  of 
succor  from  that  quarter.  I  wish  to  hold  Bayou  Boauff 
while  a  chance  of  ultimate  relief  can  inspire  me.  Such 
are  my  cogitations,  while  riding  up  and  down,  without 
food  during  the  entire  day,  yet  wholly  unconscious  of 
hunger,  because  absorbed  by  the  responsibilities  of  my 
command.  When  the  rifle-pits  are  deep  enough,  I  muster 
the  men,  to  assign  them  their  positions  and  commanders. 
In  yesterday's  morning  reports,  about  two  hundred  and 
fifty  rank  and  file  were  represented  to  be  fit  for  duty; 


160          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

but  only  thirty-seven  files  now  present  themselves  on  the 
line  of  the  rifle-pits.  Are  these  seventy-two  infantry- 
men the  force  with  which  I  am  to  defend  Bayou  BreufF? 
But  there  are  forty  artillerists ;  ten  men  to  each  piece ; 
not  sufficient  for  a  necessary  relief.  1  direct  search  for 
stragglers  and  skulkers;  but  this  results  in  a  small 
accession  only.  Apparently,  I  have  not  much  numerical 
strength  to  back  my  determination  to  hold  out  to  ex- 
tremity. 

After  assigning  stations  and  immediate  commands,  I 
ride  to  the  battery.  Lieut.  Sherfy  stops  me,  near  the 
large  gun  which  is  posted  on  the  track.  "Colonel!"  he 
gays. — "Here  is  one  of  my  sergeants,  who  desires  to 
speak  a  word  to  you,  sir!" 

The  sergeant  salutes,  and  approaches.  He  is  a  bluff, 
Saxon-looking  man,  who  has  apparently  made  up  his  mind 
to  talk  bluntly. 

"Well,  my  lad,  what  do  you  wish  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"Colonel!"  responds  the  gunner,  sinking  his  voice. 
"I  want  to  ask  your  liberty  to  leave !" 

"  To  leave,  sir !     What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"I  mean" — in  a  still  lower  voice — "I'd  like  to  get 
away — me  and  my  mates. — You  see,  Colonel,  we  were  in 
the  secesh  service,  when  Orleans  was  captured,  and  we 
'listed  under  the  Feds.  If  the  Rebs  catch  us,  sir,  all  is, 
they'll  hang  us! — So  we'd  like  to  leave  this  place,  Colo- 
nel—" 

I  look  at  the  man  steadily,  without  speaking,  and  he 
proceeds — "You  see,  sir,  of  course,  we  know  there's  no 
chance  here ;  it's  got  to  come  to  surrender — " 

i  interrupt  further  parley.  "Who  told  you,  sir,  that 
we  shall  surrender!  This  place  is  to  be  keld,  sir!  You 
will  keep  your  post,  to  defend  it.  If  you  leave,  it  will 
be  with  a  bullet  in  your  back!" 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  161 

1  speak  warmly;  for  the  man's  apparent  lukewarmness 
is  annoying.  My  earnestness  seems  to  please  him,  never- 
theless ;  for  he  steps  back  to  his  place  by  the  gun,  crying 
out,  with  rather  an  impressive  oath — "If  it's  fight,  Colo- 
nel, I'll  stick  by,  any  way !"  A  hurrah  from  the  gunner 
and  his  comrades  cheers  me,  as  I  gallop  off;  but,  in  spite 
of  this  manifestation,  I  cannot  repress  the  reflection  that 
this  poor  fellow  is  fighting  with  a  halter  about  his  neck; 
that  he  was  morally  right  in  desiring  to  escape  a  conflict 
so  hopeless  as  ours  threatens  to  be,  and  fraught  with 
such  peril  to  himself  personally. 

But  I  have  not  yet  done  with  my  artillery-men.  An 
hour  afterwards,  a  gunner  comes  to  me,  as  I  ride  near, 
with  a  report  that  his  piece  will  be  unserviceable.  An 
important  implement  has  been  lost;  a  "rimmer,"  used  to 
increase  the  calibre  or  bore,  of  shells,  by  making  its  cir- 
cumference larger,  when  necessary,  so  that  a  different 
fuse  can  be  inserted.  The  man  affects  to  explain  that 
the  burning  of  his  shells  cannot  be  graduated,  because  of 
the  loss  of  this  simple  instrument.  It  is  desirable  to  get 
a  range  upon  the  opposite  shore,  to  cover  a  battery  which 
the  rebels  are  bringing  into  position  near  the  Bcsuff. 

"Do  you  tell  me,  that  our  defence  must  stop,  because 
you  have  lost  a  thing  like  that,  sir  ?" 

"You  see,  Colonel!  we  can't " 

"I  see  that  all  you  need  is  a  common  augur,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind,  to  make  that  bore  larger!  Is  there  no 
such  tool  in  camp?" 

"We  could  n't  find  any,  sir!" 

I  get  indignant  at  the  apparent  stupidity  or  indifference 
of  the  fellow.  Seizing  a  musket  near  me,  I  wrench  away 
the  bayonet,  and,  by  a  smart  blow,  break  off  its  glittering 
point.  A  tri-edged,  augur-sort  of  instrument  remains, 
which  I  hand  to  the  gunner,  ordering  him  to  test  its 


162          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

utility  as  a  "rimmer."  It  is  inserted  in  the  fuse  bore, 
and  perforates  the  substance  that  forms  the  shells'  rim 
without  difficulty.  A  "rimmer"  is  provided,  and  our 
gun  rendered  serviceable  once  more. 

But  I  mentally  doubt  whether  the  gunners  will  be  as 
"serviceable"  as  their  pieces,  if  such  slight  difficulties 
as  this  last  one  can  be  made  the  foundation  of  despon- 
dency. It  becomes  rather  problematical  to  me  whether, 
with  my  thirty-seven  files  in  the  rifle-pits,  and  my  grumb- 
ling artillerists  out  of  it,  I  can  depend  on  a  very  resolute 
defence  of  this  "  Castle  Dangerous"  of  ours. 

But  evening  approaches,  and  other  affairs  require  at- 
tention. The  rifle-pits  are  made  ;  shallow  trenches,  with 
a  heap  of  earth  in  front,  scarcely  waist  high.  Our  flanks 
are  barricaded  with  old  wagons,  lumber,  and  the  abattis 
of  orange  trees.  We  have  cleared  a  large  space  of  the 
growing  grain  in  front  of  our  lines,  so  as  to  get  range  for 
musket-fire.  I  now  order  the  demolition  of  some  sheds 
in  the  range  of  our  artillery,  and  cause  fire  to  be  set  to 
other  buildings,  which  may  serve  to  shelter  an  advance 
of  rebels  during  the  night. 

Our  last  piece  of  fire-works  is  to  be  the  sugar-house  on 
the  opposite  bayou  shore.  But,  before  applying  our 
torch  to  this  structure,  I  have  a  word  with  "Billy "and 
the  engineers,  concerning  their  locomotives. 

The  rebels  have  secured  several  trains  of  cars  at  Bra- 
shear  City,  but  no  engines.  The  two  in  our  possession 
would  be  invaluable  prizes  to  them  ;  by  aid  of  which  they 
might  transport  their  forces  and  supplies  upon  the  road, 
as  they  advance  on  New  Orleans.  These  locomotives 
must  not  fall  into  their  hands,  in  a  serviceable  condition ; 
and  both  conductor  and  engineers  assure  me  that  they 
can  be  destroyed.  "  It  is  only  necessary,"  says  one,  "  to 
burn  out  the  fire-chest.  It  will  take  them  a  month  to 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  163 

repair  them."  Another  says,  "  There's  a  single  pin 
which  I  can  remove,  and  which  cannot  be  replaced. 
That  will  prevent  the  use  of  the  engine."  I  have  an 
idea,  myself,  that  the  best  way  to  place  the  locomotives 
hors  du  combat  will  be  to  run  them  into  one  another,  and 
then  blow  them  up  with  gun-powder.  But  I  am  satisfied 
to  leave  the  plan  of  destruction  to  our  "  experts."  They 
only  await  orders  for  the  work,  and  these  I  give  them. 

Dusk  approaches,  and  I  direct  that  the  iron  and  planks 
of  the  bayou  bridge  shall  be  removed.  The  work  is  com- 
menced, and  in  a  short  time  a  section  of  rails  and  several 
cross-trees  are  torn  up  and  flung  into  the  Bo3uff.  The 
passage  of  the  bridge  by  cavalry  is  thus  effectually  pre- 
cluded. 

I  now  call  a  trio  of  my  "  Ironsides"  youths,  and  dis- 
patch them  to  the  sugar-house  on  incendiary  business. 
They  cross  the  bayou  in  a  skiff,  and  shortly  thereafter  I 
get  ocular  evidence  of  their  work.  A  cloud  of  light 
smoke  appears,  which  gradually  darkens,  and  increases  to 
dense  volumes.  I  hear  exclamations  running  through 
the  camp,  as  our  soldiers  discover  the  vapor  and  pres- 
ently catch  sight  of  flames.  "  The  sugar-house  is  gone 
up  !M  "Goodbye  to  Uncle  Sam's  commissaries!"  An 
officer  comes  to  me,  and  asks  if  the  burning  is  accidental, 
and  I  assure  him  that  it  is  not. 

About  this  time,  the  Connecticut  company,  under  Cap- 
tain Hopkins,  stationed  at  Bayou  Ramos,  arrives  in  my 
lines,  having  fallen  back,  after  a  brief  skirmish  with  the 
enemy.  General  Tom  Green  is  at  Bayou  Ramos,  but  as 
Captain  Hopkins  fired  the  bridge  before  leaving,  the 
rebel  advance  will  be  somewhat  retarded.  They  may 
attack  us  during  the  night,  however,  or  at  daybreak,  to- 
morrow ;  and  it  behooves  us  to  be  on  the  qui  vive.  I 


164  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

proceed,  therefore,  to  post  sentinels  and  pickets,  and  send 
scouts  toward  Bayou  Ramos. 

There  are  hundreds  of  able-bodied  negroes  in  the  camp, 
with  their  families ;  a  multitude  of  women  and  children — 
refugees  from  the  plantations  on  both  sides  of  Bayou 
Boeuff.  In  making  a  stand,  the  blacks  can  be  serviceable  ; 
so  I  muster  a  few  scores,  distribute  muskets  and  ammu- 
nition to  them,  and  get  them  speedily  in  line  and  under 
drill.  Several  enlisted  men,  of  the  "  Corps  d'Afrique," 
have  come  in  among  the  fugitives  from  Brashear,  and  I 
select  a  few  of  these  to  act  as  sergeants. 

This  nocturnal  drill  presents  a  singular  spectacle.  I 
have  the  negroes  before  me  in  two  ranks,  and  exercise 
them  in  the  manual  of  arms.  They  are  awkward,  but 
eager  to  learn,  and  appear  to  be  of  good  soldier-stuff.  I 
do  not  find  my  officers  entering  cordially  into  the  scheme 
of  arming  and  drilling  negroes ;  and  for  this  reason  I  do 
not  commit  them  to  it.  I  give  the  black  recruits  my 
personal  attention,  taking  the  responsibility  of  conse- 
quences. The  drill  proceeds  noiselessly,  orders  being 
given  with  "  bated  breath."  It  is  dusk  evening,  and  very 
calm.  The  sky  is  somewhat  overcast,  but  we  have  a  lurid 
illumination  from  the  sugar-house  and  other  buildings  on 
fire.  The  Boeuff  casts  back  a  ruddy  reflection  of  flame, 
and  bright  Hashes  of  light  quiver  on  neighboring  orange- 
groves,  and  make  the  surrounding  fields,  and  our  camp, 
with  its  watchful  soldiers,  distinctly  visible  Drill  con- 
cluded, I  detail  a  few  of  my  black  volunteers  for  picket 
service,  and  despatch  them  to  the  outskirts  of  camp  and 
verge  of  surrounding  timber,  with  instructions  to  lie  con- 
cealed, keeping  strict  watch,  and  should  the  enemy  ap- 
proach, to  bring  me  a  report  at  once,  without  alarming 
the  camp. 

As  evening  wears  on,  the  blaze  of  our  burning  sugar- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  165 

house  augments  in  breadth  and  fury.  The  dry  buildings, 
the  immense  piles  of  tents,  with  their  supports,  the  quan- 
tities of  clothing,  the  trunks,  and  a  mass  of  other  com- 
bustibles, combine  to  furnish  fuel  for  the  devouring  flame. 
A  roar  like  low  thunder  undertones  the  crackling  of  burn- 
ing wood,  the  explosions  of  powder,  the  reports  of  guns 
and  pistols  incessantly  discharged  by  the  heat.  This 
conflagration  is,  indeed,  a  grand  and  costly  piece  of  Fed- 
eral fire-works.  Better,  however,  that  the  elements  re- 
gain their  constituents,  than  that  rebel  hordes  find  an- 
other commissariat! 

Toward  nine  o'clock,  "  Billy,"  the  conductor,  his  rail- 
road employees,  and  several  citizen  refugees,  send  a 
committee,  to  ask  permission  to  make  their  escape  from 
the  camp.  These  men  are  convinced  that  all  defence 
must  be  abortive,  and,  as  many  of  them  are  individually 
obnoxious  to  the  rebels,  they  are  prudently  apprehensive 
of  personal  peril  should  they  .be  captured  with  the  rest. 

That  tall  planter,  Mr.   S ,  who  has  been   "running" 

several  government  plantations  near  the  Boeuff,  during 
the  last  year,  and  who  has  solved  the  question  of  free 
labor  value  very  effectually,  is  one  of  the  refugees  here. 
He  has  already  begged  to  be  enrolled  as  a  private  in  one 
of  our  companies,  so  that  he  may  thus  escape  scrutiny, 
and  obtain  parole  as  a  soldier  But  his  collossal  propor- 
tions would  render  it  difficult  to  conceal  his  identity, 
should  there  be  neighboring  secessionists  about ;  so  Mr. 
S.  unites  with  "Billy"  and  the  rest,  in  requesting  leave 
to  attempt  their  escape.  I  readily  grant  the  permission, 
as  these  non-combatants  can  be  of  no  use  to  us ;  and  soon 
after,  furnished  with  a  written  pass,  and  stowing  them- 
selves in  a  capacious  boat,  which  they  have  procured, 
these  men,  to  the  number  of  seventeen,  set  quietly  out, 
through  darkness,  to  descend  the  Boaufi. 


166  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Night  darkens;  with  the  fading  of  flames  around  us. 
The  discharges  of  loaded  fire-arms  in  the  sugar -house  be- 
come less  frequent,  and  at  length  cease.  Silence,  utter 
and  oppressive,  falls  over  camp.  I  walk  out  to  the  rifle- 
pits  ;  linger  a  moment  among  prostrate  forms  of  sleep- 
ing soldiers  ;  peer  out  through  the  gloom,  across  the 
bayou  and  toward  the  sombre  woods  hemming  us  on  the 
Brashear  side;  then  return,  and  sit  before  my  tent,  ab- 
sorbed in  reflections  upon  our  desperate  situation.  At 
last,  weary  but  yet  wakeful,  I  lie  down,  to  court  a  brief 
repose. 

Very  brief,  indeed,  are  my  slumbers  ;  for  at  midnight 
Captain  Coe  rushes  into  my  tent.  "Colonel!  the  rebels 
are  reported  in  the  woods !" 

Roused  abruptly,  I  catch  but  the  import  of  these  words ; 
and,  springing  from  my  pallet,  with  a  single  exclamation, 
"  Up  !"  I  hasten  to  our  rifle-pits,  and  get  the  men  speed- 
ily at  their  stations.  The  enemy  are  reported  to  have 
advanced  from  Bayou  Ramos,  and  to  be  in  force  at  our 
front.  They  may  make  an  assault  at  any  moment.  Dur- 
ing two  hours  we  remain  in  suspense,  our  infantry  resting 
on  their  arms,  in  the  rifle-pits,  our  batteries  double- 
shotted  and  ready  to  open  upon  a  foe.  Long  after  this,  I 
learn  that  it  was  proposed  to  General  Green  to  attack  us 
at  this  hour.  Had  the  rebels  attempted  it,  they  would 
have  found  us  prepared  for  them,  and,  though  they  might 
have  overwhelmed  us  by  force  of  numbers,  the  success 
would  have  cost  them  dear. 

But  we  were  not  to  be  molested,  and  after  remaining 
in  line  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  directed  the  men 
to  lie  down  near  the  pits  and  sleep  again.  I  resumed 
my  own  vigils  in  frout  of  the  tent,  where  I  was  presently 
addressed  by  Captain  Hopkins,  the  brave  officer  who  had 
been  compelled  to  retreat  from  Bayou  Ramos. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  167 

"Colonel!"  said  the  Captain,  "I  would  like  to  speak 
to  you  for  a  moment,  if  you  will  excuse  me/' 

"  Certainly!  I  shall  be  glad  to  listen  to  you,  Captain." 

"It  is  the  opinion  of  most  of  our  officers  and  men,  sir, 
that  this  post  cannot  be  defended  without  great  sacrifice 
of  life,  and  resistance  can  be  made  only  for  a  short  time. 
Would  you  object  to  calling  the  officers  together,  and 
hearing  their  opinions  upon  the  subject  ?" 

"Of  course  not,  Captain  !  I  will  call  a  council  of  the 
officers,  if  they  desire  it." 

"  I  assure  you,  sir,  that  they  wish  it." 

"  Yery  well,  Captain !  I  leave  the  matter  to  yourself. 
You  may  notify  our  officers  to  report  at  my  quarters  !M 

Captain  Hopkins  departs  on  his  errand,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  commissioned  officers  present  themselves  at 
my  tent.  We  retire  from  observation  and  hearing  of 
the  men,  to  a  flank  of  our  barricades,  and  proceed  to  dis- 
cuss "the  situation."  I  state  to  them,  frankly,  my  view  of 
the  difficulties  which  environ  us,  and  declare  that  I  hold 
.  myself  ready  to  be  governed  by  the  opinion  of  the  coun- 
cil. After  other  remarks,  I  submit  the  question,  as  to 
whether  we  shall  negotiate  or  fight,  to  all  present,  begin- 
ning, as  in  courts-martial,  with  the  youngest  in  rank. 

Lieut.  Peck,  of  the  Twenty-Third  Connecticut  Volun- 
teers, is  our  junior.  He  says  he  will  do  as  his  seniors 
decide,  fight  or  not.  All  the  remaining  officers  declare 
for  negotiation,  considering  a  defence  to  be  useless;  and 
resistance  only  calculated  to  involve  a  waste  of  life.  My 
judgment  endorses  the  correctness  of  this  unanimous 
verdict,  although  I  repine  at  the  necessity  which  con- 
strains it.  It  is  decided  that,  if  the  enemy  attack  us 
during  the  darkness,  we  shall  resist,  but  that  at  morning 
we  will  consider  terms  of  surrender.  This  course  of 
action  agreed  upon,  a  flag  of  truce  is  given  in  charge  of 
Lieut.  Kirby,  to  display  from  our  post  at  sunrise. 


168          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

The  council  disperses,  and  I  throw  myself  upon  a  stool 
before  my  quarters.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  do  I  feel  a 
reaction  of  my  energies.  Yesterday,  I  was  from  day- 
break to  dusk  in  the  saddle,  or  occupied  in  labor,  swal- 
lowing scarcely  a  morsel  of  nourishment,  When  aroused, 
at  midnight,  by  the  report  of  a  rebel  advance,  my  nervous 
strength  remained  intact.  But,  since  the  decision  of  our 
council  of  war,  I  feel  every  symptom  of  exhaustion. 
My  faculties  are  no  longer  alert,  my  mind  has  lost  its 
composure,  and  my  limbs  are  feeble.  The  tension  of 
responsibility,  which  braced  my  system,  is  now  relaxed, 
and  I  feel  like  casting  myself  upon  the  ground  to  sleep 
or  to  weep  like  a  child. 

But  the  die  is  cast.  We  have  agreed  to  negotiate,  and 
negotiation  can  end  only  in  surrender.  A  tumult  of 
conflicting  emotions  disturbs  me,  as  I  look  up  to  the 
American  flag,  which  still  waves  from  its  staff,  over  our 
camp.  I  almost  pray  that  the  rebels  may  suddenly  dash 
upon  us,  that  we  may  be  spared  the  bitterness  of  lowering 
those  beloved  colors.  I  yearn  to  the  "Old  Flag,"  this 
hour,  as  to  a  mother  whom  I  may  see  no  more.  God 
bless  the  emblem  of  our  "  Liberty  and  Union — one  and 
inseparable!"  Its  freedom  cannot  be  restricted  by  our 
captivity;  its  giant  power  will  not  be  impaired  by  the 
loss  of  pygmies  such  as  we  are.  It  will  again  lead  the 
march  of  victorious  armies  over  these  bayous.  It  will 
flame  like  a  meteor  on  the  skirts  of  flying  foes.  Perhaps, 
it  may  follow  us,  a  messenger  of  enfranchisement,  to  the 
gates  of  the  prison-house  to  which  we  must  render  our- 
selves. God  bless  the  Old  Flag!  whatsoever  fate  shall 
be  ours,  who  no  longer  can  hope  to  defend  it  successfully. 
God  grant  that  we  shall,  some  time,  behold  it  again, 
waving  over  a  Restored  Union  and  a  Free  Kepublio ! 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  169 


CHAPTER    XVII- 

CAPTIVITY. 

As  the  dark,  slow  night-hours  wane  gradually,  I  think 
of  the  thousand  unhappy  negroes,  men,  women,  and 
children,  who  have  sought  refuge  in  this  camp.  Hard  is 
their  fate,  to  be  returned  to  slavery,  after  having  tasted 
freedom.  The  condition  and  prospective  fate  of  these 
people  embitters  for  me  the  pain  of  surrender. 

More  then  once,  I  find  myself  inclined  to  make  a  des- 
perate stand,  arming  blacks  and  whites,  to  live  or  die 
together.  But  reflection  tells  me  that  the  attempt  can 
only  end  in  a  massacre  of  the  negroes,  perhaps,  of  my 
own  comrades ;  and  the  responsibility  of  such  a  result 
must  rest  on  me,  if,  reversing  the  council's  decision,  I 
command  a  conflict  which  can  have  no  result  beyond  the 
sacrifice  of  life.  -***1  * 

But  there  is  one  duty  I  owe  to  faithful  men.  My 
servants  must  not  be  left  to  rebel  mercies.  John,  my 
valet,  came  with  me  from  home.  George  and  Toussaint 
are  both  attached  and  zealous  followers.  I  resolve  to 
give  them  a  chance  to  escape  ;  so,  calling  them  to  my  tent, 
I  briefly  explain  matters.  George,  sanguine  Creole,  is 
sure  he  can  get  through  the  rebels.  Toussaint,  brave 
fellow!  hangs  his  lip.  He  would  like  to  have  a  blow  at 
his  old  oppressors.  But,  they  are  all  agreed  to  make 
the  effort  to  escape  capture ;  and  I  give  each  of  them  a 
revolver,  with  good  store  of  ammunition.  To  J.ohn  I 
intrust  a  message  for  my  wife.  Then,  wringing  the  hands 


170  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

of  my  sable  henchmen,  and  feeling  more  then  one  tear 
drop  upon  my  wrist,  I  bid  them  "  Good  speed, "  and 
watch  their  dusky  figures  disappearing  among  surround- 
ing shadows. 

The  approach  of  day-break  finds  me  still  seated  in 
front  of  my  tent,  absorbed  in  sombre  reflections.  But 
there  are  precautions  yet  to  be  taken.  Our  poor  blacks 
must  not  be  found  by  the  enemy  with  arms  in  their 
hands,  as  it  might  jeopardize  their  lives,  in  view  of  Jeff. 
Davis's  recent  proclamation,  declaring  our  negro  corps 
and  its  officers  outlawed  from  military  consideration.  I 
order  the  recall  of  our  "contraband"  pickets  and  a 
muster  of  their  armed  comrades.  Bringing  them  into 
line,  they  are  directed  to  stack  arms,  and  are  then  dis- 
missed to  their  quarters.  1  adopt  this  quiet  luethod  of 
disarming  the  brave  fellows,  lest  they  may  endanger  their 
own  safety  and  that  of  my  white  soldiers  by  any  rash 
desire  to  defend  themselves.  1  dismiss  likewise  several 
negroes  who  were  placed  last  night  as  a  guard  over 
supposed  spies  brought  into  camp. 

The  sergeant,  whom  I  dispatched  on  Monday  night,  as 
a  courier  to  our  lines  at  Lafourche  Crossing,  has  returned, 
without  effecting  his  object.  He  reports  the  roads 
beyond  and  about  Tigerville  completely  blocked  by 
rebels,  to  the  number  of  several  thousand  mounted  men, 
who  are  advancing  on  Bayou  Boeuff.  Day  now  dawns, 
and  shortly  afterwards,  I  am  notified  that  a  flag  of  truce 
from  General  Taylor  at  Brashear,  has  appeared,  and  that 
the  bearer  wishes  to  see  the  commander  of  this  post. 
Calling  Lieut.  Kirby  to  accompany  me,  I  mount  a  hand- 
car, and  proceed  about  a  quarter-mile  on  the  railroad,  to 
meet  the  rebel  messenger.  We  encounter  a  young  man, 
armed  with  a  rifle,  who  announces  himself  to  be  an  officer, 
and  demands  the  surrender  of  what  he  terms  "  the  fort." 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE   GULP.  171 

Scrutinizing  the  youth's  somewhat  dirty  and  dilapidated 
appearance,  as  he  stands  between  a  brace  of  apparent 
subordinates,  not  more  tattered  than  himself,  I  ask  whose 
authority  he  represents. 

"1  represent  General  Taylor,  sir!"  he  replies  loftily. 

"What  is  your  rank,  sir?" 

"  I  am  an  officer,  under  General  Green's  command,  sir ! 
I  am  Captain  McNally,  sir  !" 

"  But  you  have  nothing  about  you  to  distinguish  your 
rank,  sir.  How  am  I  to  know  that  you  are  an  officer?" 

"  My  honor,  sir!"  exclaims  the  young  rebel,  with  a 
melo-dramatic  slap  of  his  breast  with  the  right  hand, 
while  the  left  brings  his  gun  to  an  emphatic  order. 

"  Well,  Captain,  I  suppose  I  must  take  your  word  for 
it !  And  now,  as  you  represent  General  Taylor,  let  me 
ask  what  terms  he  proposes  to  us.  I  will  remark,  that  I 
have  no  desire  to  sacrifice  life  in  a  defence  of  this  post, 
but,  nevertheless,  we  can  give  you  a  good  fight  here,  if 
we  choose  to  resist." 

"It  will  be  useless,  sir!"  responds  the  young  rebel. 
"General  Green  is  determined  to  reduce  this  fort,  no 
matter  what  it  may  cost.  He  is  resolved  to  bring  his 
whole  force  against  you,  sir,  and  if  you  resist,  it  will  only 
be  the  worse  for  you !" 

"That  may  be,  Captain!  But  what  terms  are  you 
authorized  to  offer?" 

"General  Taylor  orders  me  to  demand  an  unconditional 
surrender,  sir!" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?  Are  we  not  to  have  the 
usual  conditions  allowed  to  prisoners  of  war,  sir?" 

"  Your  men  will  be  allowed  to  keep  their  knapsacks, 
and  your  officers  their  private  property." 

"Well,  Captain!   I  shall  return  to  my  officers,  and 


172          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

state  to  them  General  Taylor's  proposition.  If  they 
agree  to  accept,  I  will  notify  you !" 

"I  give  you  ten  minutes,  sir,  to  decide." 

"It  is  not  time  enough!" 

"Well,  sir!  it's  all  I  can  give!  If  you  send  no  an- 
swer within  that  time,  we  shall  open  fire !" 

"Very  well,  sir!  Let  that  be  understood!  And,  on 
our  part,  sir,  if  we  do  not  accept  your  terms,  you  will  see 
yonder  white  flag  come  down,  and  our  Union  flag  go  up 
in  its  place.  Good  morning,  Captain!" 

Thus  leaving  this  assumptions  young  rebel,  after  sub- 
stantially, if  not  literally,  the  foregoing  colloquy,  I  roll 
back  on  the  hand-car  to  camp,  and  call  my  officers  to- 
gether. There  is  a  general  demur  to  the  summary  and 
insolent  demands  of  General  Taylor's  shabby  messenger. 

"Very  well,  gentlemen !"  I  say  to  them.  "  Say  but 
the  word,  and  our  flag  of  truce  shall  give  place  to  a  bat- 
tle-flag." 

But  here  Lieut.  Kirby,  of  my  own  regiment,  interposes. 
"  Colonel !"  he  remarks,  "  The  men  are  dispirited,  since 
they  saw  our  flag  of  truce  up,  and  they  won't  fight." 

"  Well,"  remarks  Captain  Sanford,  of  the  Connecticut 
regiment.  "Let  us  take  our  time,  and  if  the  rebels 
choose  to  open  fire,  we  can  return  it."  Other  officers 
express  themselves  similarly  ;  and  the  result  is,  that  we 
discuss  the  subject,  not  ten  minutes  only,  but  a  half-hour, 
at  least,  without  hearing  any  more  from  the  enemy.  But 
there  are  no  more  cheering  auspices  for  us  this  morning 
than  there  were  at  our  nocturnal  council ;  and  the  finale 
of  this  last  conference  is  a  decision  to  accept  General 
Taylor's  terms,  of  protection  to  the  private  effects  of  om- 
cers and  men.  This  finally  settled,  I  appoint  Captain 
Coe  and  Lieut.  Kirby  to  meet  Captain  McNally  again,  and 
then  repair,  heart-sick,  to  my  quarters. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  173 

But  scarcely  has  the  hand-car  rattled  off,  with  our  en- 
voys, than  another  flag  of  truce  is  displayed  on  the  oppo- 
site shore  of  Bayou  Boauff.  Col.  Major  presents  himself 
at  the  dismantled  bridge,  and  summons  us  to  surrender, 
in  the  name  of  General  Mouton.  A  short  parley  ensues* 
succeeded  by  the  entry  to  our  lines  of  the  cavalry  colonel 
and  his  staff,  who  cross  over  our  broken  bridge  planks. 
Mounting  "  Black  Roman,"  I  proceed  to  the  railroad,  in 
season  to  see  rebels  coming  in  upon  us  from  all  sides. 

Col.  Major  is  a  fine-looking  officer,  with  the  manners 
of  a  gentleman.  He  accosts  me  courteously,  with  an  ob- 
servation about  the  fortune  of  war,  and  expresses  regret 
that  he  had  not  arrived  in  time  to  receive  our  capitula- 
tion, for  General  Mouton  instead  of  General  Taylor.  He 
promises,  however,  that  the  terms  made  shall  be  strictly 
respected,  and  remarks'  that  we  have  done  well  to  avert 
a  conflict. 

"  You  had  no  chance  at  all !"  says  Major.  "  I  supposed 
you  had  at  least  a  thousand  men,  with  ground  well  in- 
trenched and  fortified.  But  I  intended  to  cross,  above, 
and  charge  down  the  bayou  bank  on  your  flank,  with 
twelve  hundred !" 

"  We  should  have  given  you  a  reception  from  those 
double-shotted  guns,"  I  said. 

"  If  we  attacked  your  front,  you  might  have  given  us 
something  to  do;  but  your  few  men  never  could  have 
stood  a  charge  on  the  flank  here.  What  were  you  burning 
last  night,  Colonel !" 

I  pointed  to  the  ruins  of  the  sugar-house,  yet  smoul- 
dering and  smoking,  and  replied:  "  An  old  store  depot!1' 

"We  thought  it  was  the  railroad  bridge,"  said  Col. 
Major.  "It  would  have  been  the  worse  for  you,  if  you 
had  destroyed  it.  General  Mouton  wants  all  this  road» 
for  an  advance  on  New  Orleans." 


174          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

"You  think  you  will  get  there  this  time,  Colonel  ?" 
"We  shall  be  in  New  Orleans  by  Saturday  night,  sir. 
Nothing  can   stop  us.     We've  driven  your  troops  below 
Lafourche,  and  shall  follow  them  to  Algiers." 

Col.  Major  was  not  frank  enough  to  tell  me  how  he  had 
been  repulsed,  with  all  his  force,  at  Lafourche  Crossing, 
on  Sunday  night;  but  he  added,  to  his  last  words,  the  ad- 
mission that  our  "  Yankees"  at  Lafourche  had  made  a 
stout  fight. 

"We  shall  meet  in  New  Orleans,  Colonel!"  said 
Major,  with  a  laugh,  as  he  turned  away  to  inspect  our 
camp. 

"  Shall  I  be  permitted  to  retain  a  horse,  for  transpor- 
tation, Colonel!"  I  inquire. 

"  Certainly,"  answers  the  Confederate  officer,  without 
hesitation.  "  Have  you  other  horses  here,  that  you  will 
lend  to  my  orderlies  for  the  present?  We  cannot  cross 
our  own  over  the  bridge." 

"  I  will  order  a  servant  to  saddle  my  other  two  horses," 
I  respond,  quite  satisfied,  as  well  as  surprised,  with  the 
good-nature  of  our  captors  thus  far.  At  this  juncture, 
my  quartermaster,  Lieut.  Kimball,  comes  up,  to  prefer  a 
request.  "  I  have  a  wagon  of  private  stores  and  other 
property,"  he  says,  addressing  the  Confederate  chief — 
"  Will  it  be  respected,  like  the  rest?  A  few  bottles  of 
wine,  some  cigars,  and  the  like." 

Our  worthy  quartermaster  is  very  deaf.  I  hint  this  to 
Col.  Major,  whereupon  that  affable  enemy  takes  the  trou- 
ble to  raise  his  voice,  in  consoling  assurance  to  Lieut. 
Kimball  that  his  "  small  stores,5'  being  "  private  effects," 
will  be  sacred  from  seizure.  I  begin  to  suspect  that  our 
new  friends  are  a  trifle  too  generous  in  promises ;  but 
the  quartermaster,  much  elated,  gets  out  a  box  of  superb 
Havanas,  and  commences  a  liberal  distribution  thereof. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  175 

Col.  Major  delicately  declines  to  receive  the  luxury, 
pleading  that  he  is  no  smoker ;  but  subsequently  con- 
sents to  pocket  a  couple  of  bundles  for  his  friends. 
Lieut.  Kimball  then  proceeds  to  supply  every  interesting 
rebel,  who  has  a  grey  cap,  or  a  bit  of  gilt  braid  about 
him ;  and  not  a  few  of  our  own  boys  come  in  for  a  treat  in 
the  difficulty  of  distinguishing  recipients.  So  opens 
our  intercourse  with  Texans,  of  whom  we  conceive  quite 
a  favorable  first  impression. 

But  we  are  destined,  I  apprehend,  to  discover  a  re- 
verse to  this  pleasant  morning  picture.  Presently  en- 
countering my  young  vis-a-vis  of  the  hand-car  negotiation, 
Captain  McNally,  I  inquire  to  whom  I  shall  deliver  the 
sword  which  still  swings  by  my  saddle.  The  rebel  offi- 
cer makes  a  courteous  salute,  and  says,  "  Please  to  wear 
it,  for  the  present,  Colonel !  You  can  resign  it  to  Gen- 
eral Taylor !" 

At  this  moment,  another  Confederate  officer  advances, 
and  demands  my  sword ;  adding,  superciliously,  to  the 
young  Texan  captain.  "  You  need  not  trouble  yourself 
with  authority,  sir!  I  am  commander  here  !" 

This  important  gentleman,  who  wears  a  distinguishing 
quantity  of  gold  braid  about  his  grey  suit,  is  Lieut.-Col. 
Phillips,  a  cavalry  officer.  I  respond  to  his  demand  for 
my  sword,  by  unhooking  it  from  the  belt  which  confines 
it  to  my  side. 

"  I  believe  the  belt  goes  with  the  sabre,  sir  !"  remarks 
the  chivalrous  rebel ;  whereupon,  unclasping  belt  and 
shoulder-piece,  I  hand  over  both.  Lieut.-Col.  Phillips 
coolly  adjusts  them  to  his  elegant  waist,  and  I  take  the 
opportunity  to  ride  away  from  him.  I  have  the  satisfac- 
tion, long  afterwards,  of  learning  that  he  gets  himself 
killed  by  a  Yankee  sergeant,  at  Donaldsonville,  a  few 
days  subsequent  to  my  capture,  and  that  my  sabre  re- 


176          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

verts  to  loyal  possession,  being  awarded  to  the  brave  fel- 
low who  shoots  its  temporary  custodian. 

Returning  to  my  tent,  I  find  that  it  has  been  entered 
and  ransacked  by  some  of  the  rebels  who  are  prowling 
about  camp.  My  watch,  gauntlets,  and  other  articles, 
have  disappeared.  I  look  after  my  luggage  brought  from 
Brashear  City,  and  find  that  one  box,  containing  books, 
correspondence,  and  papers  generally  >  has  been  broken 
open,  and  its  contents  scattered  over  the  ground.  I  se- 
cure a  trunk  of  clothing,  and  a  few  other  personal  effects, 
and  get  it,  together  witb  a  trunk  belonging  to  Col.  Nott, 
placed  on  a  mule-cart  that  holds  our  officers'  bag- 
gage. This  accomplished,  I  remove  the  saddles  from 
"  Black  Roman"  and  another  of  my  horses  which  a  rebel 
has  hitched  near  by.  These  saddles,  one  of  them  quite 
costly,  immediately  attract  the  admiration  of  our  Texan 
rifle  rangers.  Several  cluster  about  my  tent,  eager  to 
*'  trade"  for  the  articles.  "  Colonel,"  says  one  of  them, 
confidentially.  "  Yer  better  sell  me  that  ar'  saddle  !  I'll 
give  yer  a  right  smart  trade  for  it  /" 

I  reply,  that  Col.  Major  has  promised  that  I  shall 
keep  one  of  my  horses,  for  transportation,  and  I  will  need 
a  saddle  with  it ;  that  I  cannot  just  now  say  which  I  may 
keep,  but  will  let  them  have  one  or  the  other  at  Brashear 
City." 

"  Now,  Colonel,1'  says  the  rebel,  "  Yer  better  let  us 
boys  have  the  saddles.  Officers  gets  everything,  and 
thar's  no  show  for  us.  Yer  better  trust  us  than  them. 
I'll  give  a  hundred  dollars  for  one  o'  them  hides  !" 

I  decline  immediate  traffic,  but  tell  the  "  boys"  they 
may  look  in  again,  after  I  see  Col.  Major.  They  retire, 
casting  longing  looks  back  at  the  saddles.  I  am  now 
summoned  by  a  sergeant  to  go  out  to  Col.  Major.  I  find 
him  in  company  with  one  of  the  late  engineers  or  firemen 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  177 

on  the  railroad,  who,  as  I  afterwards  learn,  has  been 
accused  of  destroying  the  locomotives.  Col.  Major  is  in 
a  towering  rage,  and  accosts  me  in  a  high  tone.  "Do 
you  know  who  ruined  those  engines,  sir?  They  have 
been  made  useless,  sir !" 

I  perceive  that  the  subject  is  a  delicate  one;  and 
reply  diplomatically — "I  suppose  that  must  have  been 
done  by  order,  Colonel!" 

"Did  you  order  it  done,  sir?" 

"I  ordered  the  engines  to  be  run  off  the  track,  sir!" 

"It  is  an  unwarrantable  military  offence,  sir,  to  destroy 
transportation,  when  the  post  could  not  be  held.  It  is 
against  all  rules  of  war.  I  would  hang  the  man  that 
destroyed  those  engines,  sir!" 

Here,  turning  upon  the  railroad  man,  who— brave  fellow 
that  he  was — did  not  seem  to  blench  at  Major's  menace — 
"  If  you  don't  put  those  engines  in  order,  I'll  hang  you 
as  sure  as  there's  a  heaven!  Will  you  do  it?" 

"I  don't  know  that  it  can  be  done,  sir!"  replies  the 
engineer,  looking  our  exasperated  rebel  full  in  the  face. 

"I'll  make  you  know,  sir.  Here,  take  this  man  off!" 
cries  Major,  to  a  guard.  "If  he  don't  put  those  engines 
in  repair,  hang  him !" 

The  man  is  led  away.  I  do  not  recall  his  name,  if  I 
ever  knew  it;  but  he  is  evidently  a  bold  fellow,  and  a 
true  one ;  for,  if  he  had  been  craven,  he  would  probably 
have  sought  to  exculpate  himself  by  casting  the  responsi- 
bility of  the  order  on  me.  I  am  convinced  that  Col. 
Major  feels  this,  likewise ;  for  the  rebel  officer  well 
knows  that  the  engines  could  not  have  been  destroyed 
without  my  priority,  as  commandant.  I  get  proof  of  this 
fact  very  soon ;  for  the  Texan  colonel  presently  returns 
to  me,  and,  with  manifestly-strained  politeness,  expresses 
his  chagrin  that  I  must  give  up  all  my  horses.  "An 


178          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

order  has  come  from  General  Taylor,  to  that  effect,"  he 
explains.  "  Your  General  Banks  or  Bowen  has  ordered 
all  registered  rebels  to  leave  New  Orleans,  and  has 
restricted  even  delicate  ladies  to  fifty  pounds  of  baggage. 
In  retaliation  for  this  outrage,  General  Taylor  orders 
that  Yankee  officers  shall  have  no  privileges  allowed 
them." 

"This  is  hard,  Colonel  Major,"  I  reply.  "I  have 
lately  been  ill;  and  can  hardly  stand  a  march  on  foot 
for  any  distance !" 

"  I  know  it's  hard,  sir !  I  belonged  to  the  old  army, 
and  we  were  accustomed  to  do  things  in  better  shape ; 
but  I  cannot  order  anything  here,  against  the  General's 
will!  If  those  engines  had  not  been  ruined,  Colonel, 
we  might  give  you  transportation  on  the  railroad,  you 
know." 

In  spite  of  Col.  Major's  assumed  courtesy,  I  could 
detect  latent  malice  in  his  last  observation.  I  was  to  be 
promptly  punished  for  the  loss  of  those  locomotives  to 
the  rebels.  I  mentally  pray  that  it  may  be  found  impos- 
sible to  repair  the  damage. 

"If  I  must  give  up  the  horses,  may  I  retain  my  sad- 
dles, Colonel  ?  They  are  private  property,  purchased  by 
myself." 

"I  regret  to  say,  the  order  is  peremptory  to  take  sad- 
dles also,"  answers  Major.  "I  am  very  sorry,  Colonel!" 

I  bow,  and  Col.  Major  turns  away,  laughing,  perhaps, 
at  this  "retaliation,"  which  leaves  me  the  prospect  of  a 
long  tramp,  in  what  direction  I  know  not.  Bitterly  do  I 
regret,  now,  the  confidence  that  I  had  placed  in  rebel 
assurances.  I  have  seen  opportunities  of  escape  during 
all  the  morning,  which  I  now  wish  heartily  I  had  im- 
proved. Once  over  the  Bo3uff,  I  might  have  profited  by 
my  knowledge  of  the  country,  and  of  several  places  of 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  179 

shelter,  to  elude  pursuit  for  some  days,  and,  possibly, 
make  my  way  to  Lafourche  or  to  the  coast,  at  Grand 
Caillou.  But  it  is  now  too  late.  Hardly  do  I  regain 
my  tent,  before  a  guard  comes  for  my  saddles — thereby 
dissipating  all  hopes  of  the  "  trade"  promised  by  rebel 
rifle-men.  I  perceive,  likewise,  that  a  guard  is  posted 
at  the  rear  of  my  tent,  near  the  rifle-pits  ;  an  obvious  hint 
that  I  am  under  surveillance. 

To-day  I  have  only  tasted  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  hard- 
cracker.  My  lips  are  parched  and  skin  dry  and  hot.  It 
is  evident  that  fever  threatens  me.  During  the  forenoon 
no  intimation  of  what  is  to  be  done  with  officers  or  men 
has  been  given,  It  is  nearly  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, when  I  get  a  hint  that  we  are  all  to  report  at  Bra- 
shear  City.  Pending  an  order  to  march,  the  prisoners 
are  collected  in  a  field,  at  the  other  side  of  the  railroad, 
and  obliged  to  remain  there  without  refreshments,  and 
exposed  to  the  fierce  sun,  for  several  hours. 

I  see  no  more  of  Confederate  colonels.  About  sunset 
we  receive  orders  to  get  in  column  of  march.  We  walk 
about  four  abreast,  the  officers  in  front.  On  either  side 
ride  cavalry,  to  the  number  of  four  score  or  more,  armed 
with  rifles,  Enfield  muskets,  and  pistols.  The  captain  in 
command  is  an  earnest,  resolute-looking  man,  and  con- 
trols his  motley  riders  efficiently.  After  a  few  miles  of 
progress,  the  fatigue  of  marching  affects  my  enfeebled 
system  sensibly,  but  I  continue  to  keep  up  with  my  com. 
rades,  till  we  get  to  Bayou  Ramos.  The  bridge  at  this 
place,  burned  by  Captain  Hopkins,  is  passed,  with  diffi- 
culty, on  its  string-pieces.  A  Confederate  steamer  lies 
at  the  levee,  filled  with  rebels.  General  Green  has  fixed 
his  quarters  in  a  capacious  dwelling-house  on  the  Bra- 
shear  side  of  this  bridge.  We  get  sight  of  the  old  Texan 
campaigner ;  a  tall,  plain,  farmer-like  personage,  in  home- 


180          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

spun,  with  no  insignia  of  rank.  We  are  halted  here, 
while  our  rebel  captain  accepts  an  invitation  to  sup 
Most  of  us  are  hungry,  but  nothing  is  offered  to  eat ;  and, 
we  content  ourselves  with  a  rest  upon  the  damp  roadside, 
while  a  drunken  trooper  rides  out  from  a  neighboring 
camp,  swearing  horrible  oaths,  and  threatening  "  Yanks'* 
with  all  imaginable  vengeance  in  future.  This  fellow, 
however,  is  solitary  in  his  denunciation,  and,  failing  to 
provoke  a  quarrel,  finally  rides  off;  while  one  of  our 
Texan  lieutenants  remarks,  apologetically,  "  That  ar'  cuss 
is  a  coward,  I'll  swar' — as  well  as  a  drunkard.  Nobody 
but  a  coward  would  insult  prisoners!"  This  assuring 
verdict  is  endorsed  by  several  of  our  rough  guards,  and 
we  begin  to  have  a  better  opinion  of  them. 

When  the  order  to  resume  our  march  is  given,  I  find 
myself  staggering  as  I  attempt  to  walk,  and,  after  proceed- 
ing a  mile,  am  forced  to  fall  out  of  line  to  the  roadside. 
The  captain  of  cavalry  orders  one  of  his  men  to  dismount, 
and  I  take  his  place  in  the  saddle,  though  so  weak  as 
scarcely  to  be  able  to  keep  my  seat.  The  fever  is  gain- 
ing upon  me ;  my  senses  wander.  So  confused  become 
my  faculties,  that  I  ask  the  guard  to  give  me  a  switch, 
while  a  handsome  riding-whip,  that  I  have  been  carrying, 
falls  unnoticed  from  my  hand.  Dr.  Hershey,  a  surgeon  of 
U.  S.  Volunteers,  who  escaped  from  Brashear  City  only 
to  be  captured  below,  gives  me  a  large  dose  of  quinine, 
which  somewhat  revives  my  strength;  and  thereafter, 
clinging  to  my  pony's  mane  with  nerveless  hands,  I  man- 
age to  ride  slowly  in  the  line,  till  we  reach  Brashear. 

We  are  delayed  at  the  depot  an  hour,  and  Dr.  Hershey 
plies  me  with  more  quinine.  Then,  getting  orders  to 
march  two  miles  further,  to  Fort  Buchanan,  I  essay  to 
walk  with  the  rest.  Arrived  at  onr  hospital,  a  moment's 
halt  is  made,  and  I  take  the  opportunity  to  inquire, 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  181 

through  the  gloom,  if  Dr.  Willets  is  there.  A  familiar 
voice  responds,  and  I  am  presently  greeted  by  the  valiant 
surgeon  himself,  who  informs  me  that  Col.  Nott,  Lieut. 
Stevenson,  and  others  of  our  regiment,  are  in  the  build- 
ing, i  accompany  him  up  stairs,  and  the  Confederate 
surgeon,  remarking  my  nearly-disabled  condition,  invites 
me  to  remain  at  the  hospital.  But  I  am  not  permitted  to 
accept  this  humane  offer.  Our  Texan  captain  outside  has 
orders  to  deliver  his  prisoners  to  Fort  Buchanan,  and  he 
is  a  literal  constructionist  of  all  superior  orders.  Qo  I 
must,  he  says,  to  the  fort,  if  I  am  to  be  carried  bodily. 
The  considerate  rebel  surgeon  offers  to  procure  an  ambu- 
lance or  carriage,  but  the  captain  is  in  a  hurry  ;  he  must 
return  this  night,  to  Bayou  Bceuff ;  so  I  climb  once  more 
on  a  pony,  and  thus  finish  the  march  to  Fort  Buchanan. 

It  is  nearly  midnight  when  we  arrive  and  are  deliv- 
ered into  custody  of  another  commander.  Our  cavalry 
captain  rides  away,  with  his  troop,  and  we  are  ordered  to 
make  ourselves  as  contented  as  may  be  possible  on  the 
bare  ground.  Dr.  Hershey  notifies  the  post-surgeon  of 
my  illness,  and  I  am  visited  by  the  rebel  doctor,  who 
kindly  shares  with  me  his  bed,  my  blankets  having  been 
left  upon  the  baggage  cart.  Our  couch  has  no  canopy 
save  heaven  ;  but  the  surgeon  furnishes  me  with  a  cover, 
and  administers  an  opiate,  which  ere  long  stupifies  me 
into  slumber. 


182          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

A   MARCH   TO    SHREVEPORT. 

I  AWAKE  in  a  high  fever,  my  senses  wandering  to  an 
extent  that  renders  me  almost  oblivious  of  past  and 
-present.  I  see  figures  moving  about  me,  without  caring 
to  distinguish  them.  Toward  noon  I  begin  to  recall 
events,  but  an  acute  headach  bewilders  me  still.  I  me- 
chanically swallow  a  dose  of  quinine  tendered  me  by  a 
Confederate  surgeon.  One  of  our  captured  officers  enters 
the  tent,  and  hands  me  a  pocket-revolver,  with  a  request 
to  preserve  it,  if  I  can,  as  he  is  about  to  be  marched  away. 
I  afterwards  discover  this  pistol  on  my  pillow,  where  it 
is  seen,  likewise,  by  my  rebel  doctor,  to  whom  I  deliver 
it.  I  faintly  recollect  that  I  murmur  a  few  incoherent 
words  of  thanks  to  this  surgeon,  for  his  attention  to  me, 
and  that  I  give  him  a  bundle  of  cigars.  Nearly  all  the 
day  is  a  blank,  save  my  grateful  consciousness  of  kindness 
at  the  hands  of  a  sergeant  of  the  Indiana  Volunteers, 
who  brings  me  a  bowl  of  tea  and  some  toast.  Next 
morning,  I  am  less  feverish.  I  hear  that  rank  and  file 
are  paroled,  but  that  our  officers  will  be  sent  to  the 
interior.  The  surgeon  decides  that  I  am  too  ill  to  under- 
go the  hardship  of  a  march,  and  must  remain  at  the 
hospital.  To  the  hospital,  I  am  conveyed,  toward  eve- 
ning, in  an  open  cart,  which  passes  through  our  old  camp. 
I  get  a  glimpse  at  my  own  tent,  with  several  articles  of 
furniture  strown  about  it. 

Arriving  at  the  hospital,  sick  and  sad,  I  meet  Col.  Nott, 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  183 

onr  two  surgeons,  and  Lieuts.  Stevenson  and  Sherman. 
Lieut.  Stevenson  is  wounded  in  the  foot,  a  bullet  having 
passed  through  heel  and  ankle.  He  is  the  gallant  officer 
who  made  that  last  stand  at  Brashear,  defending  a  field 
piece.  Col.  Nott  is  in  excellent  spirits,  and  jocosely  noti- 
fies me  that  no  long  faces  are  allowed  in  the  mess.  Besides 
our  officers,  there  are  two  citizen-prisoners  quartered  in  the 
room  where  I  now  find  a  cot.  The  surgeon  of  our  regi- 
ment, Dr.  Willets,  and  his  assistant,  Dr.  Throop,  not  being 
held  as  prisoners,  mess  with  their  medical  brothers,  the 
Confederate  doctors,  and  assist  in  consuming  the  choice 
"  sutler"  stores  that  were  captured  with  this  post. 

Here  commences  the  routine  of  hospital  prison -life. 
There  are  seven  of  us  in  this  apartment,  our  beds  occu- 
pying the  greater  portion  of  floor.  Two  negro-women 
wait  on  us,  bringing  our  meals  twice  daily;  meat,  rice, 
bread,  coffee,  and  soups — well  cooked.  No  one  molests 
us,  and  we  have  the  range  of  the  hospital,  visiting  our 
wounded  boys  in  other  wards.  A  balcony,  in  front  of  our 
two  doors,  looks  upon  the  street  and  Berwick  Bay.  We 
have  light,  air,  »d  good  food,  and  are  altogether  as 
comfortable  as  could  be  expected.  Col.  Nott  and  myself 
reclaim  our  trunks.  I  have  lost  my  blankets,  wolf  skin, 
and  many  other  articles,  but  console  myself  in  the  pos- 
session of  necessary  clothing. 

We  remain  at  Brashear  till  the  Fourth  of  July.  Mean- 
time, our  enlisted  men  receive  their  parole,  and  are 
marched  in  the  direction  of  our  lines.  Our  captured 
officers  depart,  under  a  rebel  guard,  on  the  day  suc- 
ceeding my  own  transfer  to  the  hospital.  Several  come 
to  take  leave  of  us.  Their  destination  is  supposed  to  be 
Texas.  General  Taylor  has  ordered  that  only  such  bag- 
gage shall  be  allowed  them  as  they  can  carry  on  their 
persons,  together  with  their  blankets.  The  stipulation 


184:  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

of  "protection  for  private  property,"  is  thus  adroitly 
evaded,  and  our  officers  are  obliged  to  abandon  every- 
thing they  cannot  themselves  carry.  After  journeying 
with  knapsacks  and  packs  about  twenty  miles,  they  get 
some  relief;  the  lieutenant  in  charge  contriving  to  im- 
press an  old  lumber-wagon,  with  a  couple  of  wretched 
mules;  thus  securing  transportation  for  such  extra  weight 
as  the  more  provident  captives  may  have  been  able  to 
stagger  under  thus  far.  Marching  progresses  at  the 
rate  of  from  fifteen  to  twenty  miles  each  day;  the  pri- 
soners walking  between  files  of  mounted  guards.  The 
roads  are  heavy  with  dust,  the  sun  scorching;  and  thus, 
weary  and  faint,  those  Yankees  plod  through  their  hard, 
dusty  journeys,  and  sink  at  night  to  sleep  in  their  gar- 
ments, loaded  with  dirt  and  saturated  with  perspiration. 
No  opportunities  occur  for  washing  of  clothes,  and  scarcely 
for  ablution  of  person,  so  that,  before  reaching  New 
Iberia,  they  find  themselves  in  a  pitiable  condition. 
There  they  are  delivered  to  Lieut.  Fuller,  of  the  Con- 
federate army,  who  is  a  bitter  hater  of  "Yankees." 
Under  control  of  this  officer  they  are  marched  all  day 
without  rations.  Indeed,  the  chances  of  getting  adequate 
food  grow  quite  precarious.  Detailed  men  are  sent  in 
advance  of  the  "coffle,"  to  obtain  and  cook  corn  meal 
into  "pones."  A  prisoner's  ration,  distributed  at  the 
evening  halt,  consists  of  a  junk  of  bread  four  inches 
square,  and  a  slice  of  bacon  an  inch  thick.  To  secure 
his  share,  a  man  must  be  alert;  and  woe  to  the  wight 
who,  weary  or  sick,  neglects  to  attend  the  distribution! 
He  must  go  supperless,  or  beg  from  some  reluctant 
comrade.  It  is  a  spectacle  alike  curious  and  humiliating, 
to  behold  our  half-famished  "  Yankees"  rush  about  the 
"commissary,"  at  his  order:  "Prisoners,  fall  in  for  your 
rations!"  True  it  is,  that  no  other  than  prison-life  can 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  185 

disclose  so  frightfully  the  selfish  nature  of  man.  Such 
crowding,  pushing,  and  cursing  of  one  another;  such 
swinish  struggles  for  precedency  in  a  throng  of  hungry 
men ;  are  never,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  encountered  outside  of 
prison-gangs. 

The  diurnal  march  begins  at  seven  o'clock,  A.  M., 
continuing  till  noon;  and,  after  a  halt  during  the  "heated 
term,"  it  is  resumed  at  four  o'clock,  P.  M.,  and  protracted 
till  tho  "cooking  place"  is  reached.  Often,  when  en- 
camping at  meridian,  on  the  grounds  of  some  "secesh" 
planter,  our  "Yankees"  are  forbidden  to  approach  the 
shelter  of  a  tree,  and  sometimes  denied  access  to  a  tank 
of  water.  Occasionally,  they  are  regaled  with  a  gratuitous 
concert  of  songs  by  rebel  ladies,  and  must  listen,  with 
the  best  grace  they  can  summon,  to  the  "Southern 
Avenger,"  "Bonny  Blue  Flag"  and  similar  affecting 
ditties.  While  in  the  yard  of  a  rich  planter,  on  the 
Teche,  a  bevy  of  fair  traitresses  requested  songs  from 
our  officers  and  one  of  the  dear  creatures  expressed 
particular  anxiety  to  hear  a  celebrated  "National  air," 
the  name  of  which  she  could  not  recollect.  She  was 
certain  that  it  was  neither  our  "  Star  Spangled  Banner," 
"Hail  Columbia,'*  "Red,  White,  and  Blue,"  nor  any  other 
patriotic  effusion,  which  the  gallant  officers  mentioned; 
and  at  length  a  wag  of  our  party,  Lieut.  Page,  suggested 
to  the  southern  maiden  that  the  "National  air"  she 
wanted  might  be  "Old  Bob  Ridley."  The  intelligent 
damsel  joyfully  exclaimed  that  it  was;  and  "Old  Bob 
Ridley,"  being  loudly  called  for,  was  presently  given  with 
unction,  to  the  evident  satisfaction  of  an  appreciative 
southern  audience. 

But  other  interludes,  differing  from  these  roadside 
voluntaries  by  rebel  ladies,  were  met  by  our  officers  on 
their  weary  march.  Once  they  witnessed  that  "peculiar" 


186  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

tropical  sport,  the  hunt  of  a  runaway  negro,  and  SAW  the 
"game"  brought  down  by  bloodhounds,  that,  with  gory 
jaws,  and  venting  fierce  yelps,  leaped  around  and  snap- 
ped at  their  naked  victim. 

Below  Alexandria,  our  prisoners  suffered  much  from 
thirst;  the  Teche  water,  rank  with  vegetable  slime, 
seeming  to  aggravate  rather  than  diminish  the  demand  for 
drink.  Once,  when  nearly  sinking  from  fatigue,  they 
were  halted  near  the  mansion  of  a  planter  on  the  bayou; 
but  the  "lady"  of  the  house  refused  all  access  to  her 
water-tank,  exclaiming — "There's  the  bayou  —  good 
enough  for  any  (here  the  gracious  female  used  a  word 
profane)  Yankee  to  drink !"  This  woman  claimed  to  be  of 
an  "  upper  class ;"  but  had  Mungo  Park,  the  traveler, 
encountered  her,  he  would,  doubtless,  have  rated  her  far 
below  those  Africans  of  her  sex  whose  native  hospitality 
he  extols  so  highly. 

The  Fourth  of  July  passed  by  our  prisoners  was  a 
gloomy  and  wet  one ;  but  when  the  march  was  over,  and 
they  reached  the  shelter  of  an  old  negro  hut,  the  brave 
boys  did  not  forget  to  give  three  rousing  cheers  in  cele- 
bration of  our  national  birth-day.  The  rebel  guard  could 
claim  no  share  in  such  patriotic  rejoicing.  They  turned 
away  from  those  loyal  captives,  and,  with  customary 
southern  taste,  sought  out  the  more  attractive  company 
of  ladies  in  the  negro  quarters. 

The  arrival  of  our  "  Yankees"  at  Alexandria  called  out 
the  population  of  that  city,  some  to  denounce,  others 
to  laugh  at,  and  a  few,  perhaps,  to  pity  the  way-worn  pri- 
soners. At  this  point,  Lieut.-Col.  Clark,  Confederate 
provost-marshal,  assumed  direction,  and  permitted  our 
officers  and  citizens  to  remain  exposed,  under  a  fierce 
sun,  without  food  or  water,  during  the  entire  afternoon, 
while  groups  of  delighted  young  ladies — including  two 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  187 

daughters  of  General  Dick  Taylor — amused  themselves 
with  a  survey  of  the  "  dirty  Yankees,''  from  a  balcony  at 
Head  Quarters. 

Late  in  the  evening,  the  exhausted  prisoners  were 
marched  to  the  upper  loft  of  a  building;  an  apartment 
seventy  feet  long  by  fifteen  wide  ;  and  there,  to  the  num- 
ber of  nearly  two  hundred,  they  were  confined  till  morning. 
Besides  our  captured  Federal  officers,  there  had  been 
brought  from  Brashear  City  about  one  hundred  railroad 
laborers  and  a  few  other  stragglers.  These  men  were 
held  as  "citizen-prisoners,"  in  retaliation,  as  was  claimed, 
for  the  detention  as  hostages  of  southern  citizens  residing 
on  the  Teche,  who  had  been  arrested  by  G-eneral  Banks, 
in  his  advance  through  the  Attakapas  country.  A  com- 
mon belief  among  the  "  secesh"  seemed  to  be,  that  these 
poor  fellows  were  "Northern  planters,"  employed  by 
Banks  to  work  abandoned  sugar  estates ;  and  it  was  almost 
diverting  to  witness  rebel  bitterness  as  displayed  in  their 
comments  on  the  miserable  fortunes  of  such  "vandal 
speculators." 

On  the  morning  after  their  arrival  at  Alexandria,  the 
half-famished  prisoners  were  served  with  food,  and  per- 
mitted, under  a  strong  guard,  to  wash  themselves  in  the 
river.  Returning  to  their  quarters,  they  learned  from 
rebel  deserters  (one  hundred  and  fifty  of  whom  were 
confined  in  a  room  below)  that  our  forces  under  General 
Grant  had  taken  Vicksburg.  It  was  a  morsel  of  news 
worth,  glorification;  and  our  "Yankees"  testified  their 
joy  over  it  by  making  their  prison-house  ring  with  Union 
salvos.  This  brought  down  maledictions  on  them  from  the 
rebel  commandant,  and  at  noon  they  were  abruptly  or- 
dered to  get  ready  for  a  journey  up  to  Shreveport. 
Thereafter,  having  been  marched  through  various  streets, 


188  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

"  a  show  to  all  the  populace,"  they  were  driven  on  board 
a  boat,  and  found  themselves  ascending  Red  River. 

The  passage  to  Shreveport  was  accompanied  with  daily 
and  nightly  suffering.  One  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
persons  were  crowded  into  a  small  flat-boat,  with  scarcely 
room  to  lie,  or  even  stand,  without  a  portion  being  thrust 
against  engine  and  boiler.  The  heat  became  suffocating ; 
the  stench  was  stifling.  A  rebel  officer,  named  Lieut. 
Dean,  of  the  "  Crescent  Guards,"  was  now  in  command, 
and  showed  himself  a  cold-hearted  tyrant  over  helpless 
prisoners.  Rations  had  been  cooked  in  advance  for  the 
voyage.  They  consisted  mainly  of  corn-bread,  destitute 
of  salt,  and  were  placed  in  two  piles  of  "  pones"  aft  of  the 
boiler.  The  boat  had  been  last  used  for  the  transporta- 
tion of  beeves  and  mules.  The  accumulated  filth  on  its 
deck  was  supposed  to  have  been  removed,  when  a  shift- 
less negro  had  seemed  to  shovel  it  off.  But  no  fastidious 
imagination  was  necessary  to  discover  what  had  preceded 
the  corn-bread  upon  that  deck.  The  passage  from  Alex- 
andria to  Shreveport  occupied  five  days,  but  the  "  ra- 
tions" became  disgusting  before  half  the  distance  was 
accomplished.  The  stench  from  them  grew  intolerable. 
Our  men  sickened  with  fevers.  Even  the  strongest 
turned  from  their  filthy  food  in  disgust.  It  was  no  relief 
to  drink  the  warm,  red,  river  water..  That  only  aug- 
mented thirst,  and  induced  nausea  and  dysentery. 

Both  officers  and  men,  thus  suffering,  grew  reckless  of 
danger.  One  night,  a  rebel,  claiming  to  be  an  adjutant 
general  of  General  Steward — a  Prussian,  and  Lord  some- 
body— presented  himself  on  board,  and  began  a  series  of 
deliberate  insults  The  outrage  was  borne  till  "  forbear- 
ance ceased  to  be  a  virtue,"  and  then,  suddenly,  one  of 
our  brave  boys  ordered  the  poltroon  to  leave  the  boat,  and 
so  resolutely  did  our  "  Yankees"  second  this  command, 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  189 

that  the  Confederate  retreated  precipitately.  Had  he 
delayed  a  moment,  our  officers  would  have  flung  him  bo- 
dily into  Red  River. 

Our  prisoners  arrived  at  Shreveport  on  the  day  that  a 
rebel  legislature  was  commenced.  As  usual,  crowds  of 
citizens. gathered  to  gaze  at  the  "  Northern  planters."  A 
little  boy,  brought  by  his  father  to  see  the  spectacle, 
innocently  inquired,  "if  they  were  members  of  the 
Legislature  ?" 

Assigned  quarters  in  an  old  building  in  Texas  street, 
the  "  Yankees"  found  themselves  as  badly  situated  as 
they  had  been  at  Alexandria.  Their  food,  it  is  true,  was 
better  and  more  abundant,  but  the  place  of  their  abode 
was  a  place  of  torment.  The  yard  of  their  prison-build- 
ing, enclosed  by  a  high  wall,  was  one  vast  sink,  full  of 
abominations.  The  air  which  invaded  their  windows  was 
loaded  with  noisome  and  poisonous  exhalations.  Every 
breeze  from  the  south  brought  deathly  effluvium  into  the 
crowded  apartment,  where  one  hundred  and  seventy  men 
were  forced  to  mingle  their  food,  their  drink,  and  the 
breath  of  their  nostrils,  in  an  atmosphere  already  charged 
with  noxious  gases.  At  night  the  vapors  became  dense, 
impeding  respiration  and  banishing  sleep. 

Shreveport  was  the  headquarters  of  Lieut.-General  E. 
Kirby  Smith.  The  rebel  general's  offices  were  located 
in  the  upper  part  of  a  small  brick  building,  the  lower 
story  of  which  was  devoted  to  those  southern  institutions 
a  faro-bank  and  a  liquor  bar. 

The  routine  of  prison  existence  at  Shreveport  was 
dreary  indeed.  But  in  a  few  weeks,  our  Federal  officers 
were  notified  that  they  were  to  be  sent  to  Tyler,  in  Texas. 
On  the  morning  of  their  departure,  the  "  Northern  plant- 
ers" were  separated  from  them,  as,  likewise,  were  two  of 
their  fellow  officers,  Captain  Allen  and  Lieut.  Page,  both 


190          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

of  the  Corps  d'Afrique,  who,  after  an  examination,  were 
placed  in  chains,  and,  as  was  then  reported,  "  reserved 
for  execution."  The  parting  from  these  apparently- 
doomed  men  was  a  painful  one,  as  there  appeared  little 
hope  on  either  side  of  another  meeting. 

The  march  from  Shreveport,  under  guard  of  "  Richard- 
son's Texas  Rangers,"  made  our  "Yankees"  still  better 
acquainted  with  the  "  tender  mercies"  of  traitors  ;  for 
their  new  custodians  let  slip  no  opportunity  of  exhibiting 
their  malignant  hatred  of  Americans.  Arrived  at  their 
destination,  and  confined  in  an  ancient  courthouse,  the 
effects  of  hardships  and  ill-usage  soon  became  apparent 
in  a  general  prostration.  Closely  packed,  as  before,  and 
denied  exercise,  the  majority  became  feeble  and  hopeless, 
and  many  were  ready  to  succumb  to  fatal  disease.  But, 
fortunately  for  their  lives,  they  were  at  this  juncture,  on 
the  27th  of  August,  removed  to  Camp  Ford,  four  miles 
from  Tyler  ;  where,  in  the  open  air,  and  with  daily  oppor- 
tunities of  movement  and  ablution,  they  speedily  gained 
in  health  and  spirits.  Leaving  them  thus  situated,  let  us 
return  to  Brashear  hospital,  where,  with  my  fellow-pri- 
soners, I  am  waiting  an  expected  order  to  follow  our  com- 
rades toward  Texas. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULP.  191 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


A    BAYOU   AMBUSCADE. 

DAY  at  Brashear  hospital  begins,  by  each  of  us,  except 
Lieut.  Stevenson,  making  ablution  in  our  common  wash- 
bowl on  the  balcony.  Breakfast  discussed,  the  smokers 
indulge  in  cigars,  and  those  who  have  books  read  them. 
Acquaintances  call  on  Stratton  and  Parse,  citizen  prison- 
ers. The  former  of  these  was  lessee  or  agent  of  a  plan- 
tation, the  latter  a  hotel-keeper.  Stratton  has  a  wife,  who 
brings  him  occasional  luxuries,  and  is  endeavoring  to 
procure  his  liberation. 

I  visit  our  wounded  soldiers  in  other  wards.  Some 
are  badly  hurt.  The  poor  lad  Newlan  was  shot  through 
head  and  body,  and  his  arm  is  fractured.  He  bears  up 
nobly,  and,  clasping  my  hands,  whispers — "Tell  my 
captain  that  I  tried  to  do  my  duty." 

"You  have  done  it  well,  my  brave  boy !"  I  respond; 
and  the  gallant  youth  sinks  back,  with  a  smile  on  his 
pallid  lips. 

Sergeant  Deming,  in  another  ward,  is  more  comforta- 
ble, and  in  good  spirits.  Both  he  and  Newlan  were 
wounded,  while  defending  the  gun,  with  Lieut.  Stevenson. 
In  another  room  lies  an  interesting  young  man,  belonging 
to  the  Connecticut  regiment.  He  is  of  slight  frame,  and 
has  features  delicate  as  a  girl's.  Quiet  and  gentle,  he 
lies  reading  his  bible ;  or  occasionally  talks  of  his  home 
and  his  mother.  But  the  signet  of  death  is  on  the 


192  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

beautiful  forehead  of  this  poor  boy.     He  will  never  see 
his  mother's  cottage  in  New  Haven  again. 

One  of  our  attendants  is  the  wife  of  my  servant  George; 
a  fat,  good-humored  damsel,  who  gets  a  mosquito-net  for 
me,  and  thereafter  forages  successfully  for  a  tin  wash- 
basin. She  is  claimed,  as  a  "fugitive"  by  some  planter 
on  the  Teche.  Some  of  these  captured  "contrabands" 
appear  to  take  their  fate  philosophically,  while  others 
bewail  it  bitterly.  A  free  negro  old  man,  who  came  out 
from  New  York,  as  steward  of  the  William  Woodbury, 
the  transport  which  brought  me  to  New  Orleans,  is  now 
detained  as  a  hospital  servant.  We  hear  that  many 
blacks  were  murdered  by  the  rebels  during  their  attack 
on  Brashear  City. 

The  town  bears  marks  of  thorough  sacking.  Rebel 
steam-boats  are  constantly  conveying  plunder  away. 
Trains  of  captured  negroes,  mules,  and  horses,  are 
daily  crossed  to  Berwick,  thence  to  be  convoyed  to 
upper  Lousiana  and  Texas.  The  rebels  claim  to  have 
gained  sixteen  hundred  prisoners,  and  three  million 
dollars'  worth  of  quartermaster  and  commissary  stores,  by 
their  raid,  thus  far.  They  boast,  likewise,  of  capturing 
twenty-three  flags.  Our  "  Ironsides'*  regiment  has  lost 
a  stand  of  costly  colors,  which  I  had  sent,  previous  to 
my  going  to  the  Bceuff,  to  Col.  Nott's  quarters,  for  safe 
keeping;  a  precaution  that  I  now  regret;  for  if  I  had 
taken  them  with  me,  the  enemy  should  never  have  cap- 
tured them.  I  would  have  buried  or  burned  them  first ; 
but  Col.  Nott  yielded  them  to  rebel  possession,  in  the 
somewhat  fastidious  belief  that,  as  our  regiment  had  not 
been  able  to  defend  its  colors,  the  enemy  were  entitled 
to  demand  them.  I  should  not,  I  confess,  have  been  so 
scrupulous ;  for,  in  point  of  fact,  our  regiment  was  not 
responsible  for  the  loss  of  its  flags ;  the  greater  portion  of 


DEPABTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  193 

our  brave  rank  and  file  being  at  Lafourche  Crossing, 
when  Biashear  City  succumbed  to  surprise. 

Our  surgeon,  Dr.  Willetts,  makes  himself  actively 
useful,  in  attending  both  foes  and  friends,  who  need  his 
skillful  services.  His  zeal  and  discretion  render  him 
quite  a  favorite  with  professional  "confreres"  of  "secesh" 
persuasion.  Our  assistant  Surgeon  Throop  is  paroled, 
and  proceeds  to  the  Federal  lines,  in  order  to  settle  the 
question  of  status  regarding  captured  medical  men,  who 
claim  to  be  "non-cpmbatants,"  and,  as  such,  entitled  to 
their  immediate  liberation. 

On  the  third  day  of  July,  we  are  notified  by  Dr. 
Hughes,  post-surgeon,  to  get  ready  for  a  move  on  the 
morrow.  Mrs.  S ,  having  failed  to  effect  the  libera- 
tion of  her  husband,  volunteers  and  receives  permission 
to  accompany  him.  Our  arrangements  for  transportation 
being  finished,  we  celebrate  the  "glorious  Fourth,"  by 
embarking  on  a  river  steamer  for  our  journey  inland.  I 
provide  myself  with  a  present  supply  of  "  Confederate 
money,"  for  which  I  pay  cent,  per  cent,  in  Federal  cur- 
rency, and  then,  after  bidding  farewell  to  our  wounded 
and  paroled  who  remain,  proceed,  with  my  fellow- 
prisoners,  to  the  point  of  embarkation.  Confederate  Dr. 
Hughes  shakes  hands,  gives  me  a  parting  "grip,"  donates  a 
full  flask  of  our  quartermaster's  "Bourbon,"  and  then 
introduces  me  to  a  "jolly  flat-boat"  sort  of  skipper,  who 
repeats  the  "grip"  aforesaid,  con  cspressione,  as  your 
music-teacher  might  say.  Finally,  after  sundry  delays 
and  difficulties,  we  get  ourselves  embarked — with  Lieut. 
Stevenson  comfortably  bestowed  on  a  saloon  settee— and 
before  sunset  steam  away  from  Brashear  City,  and  up 
through  the  Atchafalaya.  Stratton  and  wife  are  allowed 
a  state-room,  and  treated  to  coffee  and  a  luncheon;  and 


194          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

presently  the  boat-captain,  approaching  us  mysteriously, 
beckons  me  to  a  corner  of  the  cabin. 

"Colonel,"  he  whispers,  "I've  got  just  one  state-room 
left,  and  I've  kept  that  for  you!" — Thereupon,  opening  a 
door,  he  discloses  a  couple  of  spacious  berths,  with  white 
counterpanes  and  musquito-nets.  I  thank  the  rebel 
skipper  heartily,  and  return  his  courtesy,  in  a  like  "  fra- 
ternal spirit,"  by  tendering  a  draught  of  my  "Bourbon;" 
whereof,  I  must  add,  he  shows  excellent  appreciation. 
Then,  after  exchanging  intelligent  glances,  and  a  few 
words  of  friendly  chat,  we  part  for  the  night;  our  skipper 
to  his  steering-house  and  myself  to  tender  a  share  of  the 
"state-room1'  to  one  of  my  captured  comrades.  Col. 
Nott  is  already  ensconced  near  the  couch  of  our  wounded 
officer,  Stevenson;  so  Lieut.  Sherman  secures  the  extra 
berth  and  musquito-bar;  and  we  are  thus  made  com- 
fortable for  another  night,  at  least. 

The  Atchafalaya,  bordered  by  green  woodlands,  with 
glimpses,  over  intervening  marsh-land,  of  lakes  and  forests 
that  extend  behind  Brashear  City,  cannot  fail  to  recall 
an  earlier  incident  of  this  year's  campaigning — the 
fight  of  our  gun-boat  Diana.  In  this  narrow  channel,  the 
beleaguered  steamer  sustained  a  fatal  conflict,  till  forced 
to  strike  her  flag  to  the  enemy. 

It  was  in  the  latter  days  of  March,  1863,  before  the 
first  advance  of  General  Banks  through  the  Attakapas, 
that  a  little  fleet  of  gun-boats  steamed  in  Berwick  Bay 
and  its  contiguous  waters,  under  Commodore  McKean 
Buchanan.  There  were  the  Diana,  Kinsman,  and  Estrella, 
the  flag-ship  Calhoun,  and,  if  I  remember  well,  the 
Sachem.  Brashear  City  had  been  captured  by  this 
armament  during  Butler's  closing  days,  and  about  the 
middle  of  January  our  gun-boats  met  two  rebel  steamers, 
called  the  Cotton  and  Hunt,  and  chased  them  up  the 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  195 

Teehe.  A  daily  sea-engagement,  thereafter,  with  a  dog- 
ged marching  forward  of  our  infantry  on  land,  resulted 
in  a  blowing  .up  of  the  Confederate  steamer  Cotton,  at  a 
heavy  price  for  us — the  death  of  poor  Buchanan.  He 
was  shot  in  the  moment  of  victory,  and  left  his  name  to 
that  fort  which  was  afterwards  finished  on  the  Brashear 
shore.  Our  troops  fell  back,  the  rebels  followed,  and 
regained  their  ground;  and  so  the  month  of  February 
passed ;  we  occupying  one  shore  of  the  beautiful  Berwick 
Bay  and  the  Confederate  forces  freely  ranging  on  the 
other.  In  March  we  drew  back  to  the  Bayou  BoDuff,  a 
channel  penetrating  from  the  bay  to  lakes  and  water- 
sheets  which  intersected  the  marshes  in  rear  of  Brashear 
City.  Our  outpost  forces  still  remained  at  Fort  Bu- 
chanan; and,  about  the  twenty-seventh  of  March,  one 
gun-boat,  the  Diana,  was  dispatched  upon  a  sugar  specu- 
lation. I  doubt  if  this  fact  be  recorded  in  official  reports, 
but  it  is  certain  that  our  stout  little  gun-boat,  with  her 
two  thirty-two  pound  broadside  guns,  her  Parrot  and  her 
Dahlgreen  brass-pieces,  and  her  crew  of  ninety,  officers 
and  men,  steamed  up,  one  pleasant  morning,  to  the 
widow  Cochrane's  sugar-house,  on  the  Atchafalaya,  with 
two  capacious  barges  towed  behind  her,  and  a  document 
in  somebody's  hands,  which  purported  to  be  a  bill-of-sale 
for  all  the  widow's  sugar.  Whether  there  was  playing 
at  cross-purposes  or  not  has  never  come  to  light,  but  our 
good  madame  made  a  great  outcry  about  her  sugar,  and 
declared  the  bill-of-sale  a  fraudulent  one.  Meantime, 
Captain  Peterson  remarked  that  rebel  scouts  were  swarm- 
ing round  our  pickets,  stationed 'on  the  lady's  grounds. 
Sharp  skirmishing  succeeded,  and  it  soon  became  ap- 
parent that  Confederate  plotting  lurked  behind  this 
sugar  speculation.  Some  twenty  hogsheads  had  been 
rolled  on  one  of  the  barges,  when  our  gun-boat  captain 


196         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

prudently  resolved  to  wash  his  hands  of  the  affair.  The 
sugars  were  re-landed,  all  hands  piped  on  board,  and  the 
Diana  steamed  for  Brashear  City.  Widow  Cochrane 
saved  her  saccharine  wealth  from  "Yankee  vandals," 
and  our  gun-boat  sheered  off  just  in  season  to  escape  a 
well-concocted  ambuscade. 

The  bill-of-sale,  a  bait  flung  out  to  greedy  quarter- 
masters through  the  rebel  spies  who  lurked  within  our 
lines,  had  failed  to  compass  the  Diana's  capture  for  that 
day,  at  least ;  but  the  Confederates  confidently  counted  on 
another  visit  of  the  gun-boat  to  secure  the  sugap  which 
had  nearly  been  her  prize.  So  reckoned  Colonel  Gray, 
the  rebel  officer  in  command,  and  he  prepared  his  am- 
buscade. Some  hundreds  of  selected  riflemen  were  sent 
down  to  lie  in  wait  below  the  widow  Cochrane's  pre- 
mises; the  Valverde  Battery,  of  five  brass  pieces,  took 
position  to  deliver  a  raking  fire  across  the  bayou.  Ca- 
valry detachments,  under  Major  Boon,  a  Texan  Hanger, 
waited  under  cover  of  the  woods  that  fringed  the  water. 
Every  favorable  point  was  made  a  cover  for  some  squad 
of  sharpshooters,  supporting  six-pound  howitzers.  Thus 
snugly  ambushed,  the  Confederate  trappers  waited,  for 
their  game. 

Meantime,  unconscious  of  this  scheming,  Gen.  Weitzel, 
as  our  fate  would  have  it,  sent  an  "order  from  his  head 
quarters  at  Bayou  Boeuff,  to  make  an  armed  reconnois- 
sance  of  Grand  Lake.  The  despatch  was  conveyed  by 
one  of  Weitzel's  aids,  Lieutenant  Allen,  who  was  also 
charged  to  bring  back  a  report  of  the  reconnoissance. 
The  Diana  was  detailed,  and  detachments  of  infantry  were 
send  aboard  of  her,  as  sharpshooters.  Young  Allen  was 
a  gallant  officer.  I  dined  in  company  with  him,  in  our 
camp,  the  day  before  he  started  on  this  fatal  expedition. 
Captain  Jewett  and  Lieutenant  Kirby,  of  the  160th 


DEPAETMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  197 

New  York  Volunteers,  Lieutenant  Buckley  and  Lieute- 
nant Laurie,  of  the  Twelfth  Connecticut  infantry,  and  as 
brave  a  complement  of  officers  and  crew  as  ever  manned 
a  gun-boat,  accompanied  Lieut.  Allen. 

Grand  Lake,  as  we  know,  is  an  expanse  of  water  at  the 
north  and  rear  of  Brashear  City.  With  Flat  Lake,  Lake 
Pelourde  and  ather  aqueous  sheets,  it  bears  the  general 
name  of  Chetimaches  Lake.  Into  these  water-beds  the 
Atchafalaya,  flowing  from  Red  River,  disembogues  its 
tide,  and  out  of  them  debouches,  to  form  Berwick  Bay, 
and  lose  it  volume  in  another  lower  bay,  to  which  it 
gives  its  name.  Fort  Buchanan's  guns,  at  Brashear  City, 
commanded  the  mouths  of  both  the  Atchafalaya  and  the 
Teche,  which  thereabove  unite ;  and  near  their  junction 
is  the  town  of  Pattersonville.  A  swampy  island,  bisecting 
its  waters,  shapes  two  channels  for  the  Atchafalaya — one 
through  Grand  Lake,  and  the  other  curving  by  the  shore 
of  Pattersonville,  so  that  a  steamer  may  sail  up  into 
Grand  Lake  on  the  Brashear  side,  and,  passing  round 
the  island,  may  return  by  a  channel  on  the  Berwick  side. 
The  Diana  started  on  her  reconnoissance,  with  Fort  Buch- 
anan thus  upon  her  right.  She  steamed  through  all  the 
navigable  waters  back  of  Brashear  City,  saw  no  sign  of 
rebels  in  their  swampy  range,  and  might  as  safely  have 
retraced  her  course  without  encountering  enemies.  The 
ambuscade  prepared  by  Colonel  Gray  was  on  the  other 
channel.  There  the  rebel  gangs  had  lain  in  wait  all  night, 
expecting  the  Diana  to  revisit  widow  Cochrane's  sugar- 
house.  In  the  morning  they  beheld  our  gun-boat  steam- 
ing up,  but,  to  their  chagrin,  she  was  headed  for  the 
Grand  Lake  channel.  Peering  from  their  skulking-places 
all  along  the  shore,  from  Pattersonville  far  down  toward 
Berwick  City,  they  could  look  across  the  woody  island, 
and  discern  our  steamer's  smoke  as  she  moved  hither  and 


198          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

thither,  reconnoitering  the  lakes.  Hour  after  hour  they 
watched,  wondering  what  occupied  the  Yankee  gun-boat, 
and  venting  divers  maledictions  on  her  crew,  until  at 
length,  as  the  day  wore,  they  gave  up  every  hope  of  get- 
ting her  within  their  toils. 

But  Destiny  was  spinning  her  own  web  of  mischance 
for  the  Americans.  Our  gun-boat  had  accomplished  her 
reconnoissauce;  her  head  was  turned  toward  Brashear ; 
when,  in  an  evil  moment,  some  one  said : 

"  Supposing  we  go  round  by  Pattersonville,  and  give 
the  rebs  a  shell  or  two.  " 

"And  stop  at  widow  Cochrane's, "  added  some  one, 
laughingly. 

The  proposition  was  relished,  it  is  probable,  by, all; 
for  this  monotonous  duty  of  exploring  muddy  bayous 
had  been  wearisome  enough.  There  were  several  hours 
of  sun  yet  left,  and  they  might  give  the  enemy  a  "big 
scare  "  meantime.  So  Captain  Peterson  and  Lieutenant 
Allen  laid  their  heads  together  for  a  consultation,  and 
the  upshot  was  that  they  ventured  to  take  the  other  chan- 
nel. Discretion  might  demand  that,  having  finished  the 
duties  of  their  trip,  they  should  report  without  delay ;  but 
an  adventure,  with  some  dash  of  danger,  tempted  them, 
and  so  they  turned  the  boat  toward  Pattersonville. 

Merrily  whirled  the  wheels,  and  our  Diana  dashed 
out  of  Grand  Lake,  and  into  the  upper  Atchafalaya,  with 
flags  flying,  and  guns  all  shotted,  ready  for  the  rebels. 
To  run  past  Pattersonville  and  through  the  Teche  mouth, 
bid  good  day  to  widow  Cochrane,  and,  perhaps,  have  a 
£  flying  skirmish  with  rebels  and  "bag"  a  few — these  were 
incitements  to  freshen  one's  spirits ;  and  so  our  gallant 
gun-boat  was  headed  for  a  rebel  ambuscade,  and  our  brave 
sailors  and  soldiers  rushed,  unknowingly,  into  the  toils 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  199 

which  an  adherence  to  their  simple  duty  would  have  ren- 
dered harmless. 

Meantime,  the  overjoyed  Confederates  followed,  with 
their  eyes,  the  course  of  the  Diana.  They  watched  her 
progress  from  the  lake,  her  turn  into  the  Teche,  and  her 
swift  descent  toward  Berwick.  Their  cavalry  could  not 
restrain  themselves,  but  dashed  along  the  shore.  Then 
a  blue  puff  of  smoke  rose  from  our  gun-boat's  deck,  a  loud, 
metallic  bark  shivered  the  air,  and  half-a-dozen  rebels  in 
a  group  were  stretched  out,  dying,  on  their  dying  horses. 
The  survivors  fled  into  the  timber.  A  shell  now  curved 
in  a  sharp  arc,  and  dropped  amid  the  woods ;  a  point- 
blank  shot  crashed  through  the  thickets.  No  response 
was  made  from  the  rebel  rifles.  The  Diana  was  allowed 
to  come  within  short  range  before  a  shot  was  fired  at  her. 
Then,  from  long  lines  of  hidden  marksmen,  and  from  all 
the  brass  artillery  pieces,  shot  and  balls  were  poured 
upon  our  doomed  Americans,  in  an  unbroken  shower.  The 
rebel  cavalry,  dismounting,  crouched  behind  trees  and 
bushes  on  the  bayou  bank,  discharging  their  revolvers  as 
fast  as  they  could  load  them.  No  human  force  might 
stand  up  under  such  a  hail  of  lead  and  iron  as  beat  upon 
the  Diana's  decks  from  every  quarter.  Her  cannoneers 
were  driven  from  their  pieces  in  the  casemates;  they 
scarcely  fired  a  dozen  times.  Her  infantry  were  power- 
less, exposed  in  mass  to  raking  fires.  They  gave  the 
rebels  a  few  volleys,  and  then  sought  shelter  between 
decks, 

Now  the  exultant  rebels  grew  frantic.  Their  yells 
and  shouts  mingled  with  the  clap  of  howitzers  and  the 
crack  of  rifles  and  revolvers.  The  gun-boat's  tiller  ropes 
were  shot  away  from  both  wheels.  The  engineers  stood 
by  their  engines,  working  the  boat  by  verbal  orders,  in 
default  of  steering  apparatus.  One  moment  her  head 


200          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

was  pushed  to  starboard,  the  next  to  larboard,  to  avoid 
encountering  a  bank.  The  channel  was  narrow,  and  rapid 
headway  was  impossible.  Forward,  the  machinery  was 
covered  by  defences  ;  abaft,  no  part  could  be  protected. 
The  positions  of  Confederate  batteries  and  sharp-shooters 
were  changing  constantly,  to  keep  their  sweep  of  the 
Diana.  "  There  was  no  moment,"  said  a  rebel  witness 
of  the  scene,  "  that  a  galling  fire  of  six-pounders  and 
Minie  rifles  was  not  poured  into  that  boat."  While  one 
section  of  artillery  sought  some  new  position,  in  advance, 
another  section  hurled  its  shells  and  round  shot  without 
pause.  Rebel  rifles  swept  the  decks  of  living  combat- 
ants, while  rebel  howitzers  crippled  the  craft. 

Captain  Peterson  beheld  his  men  driven  from  their 
guns,  and  rallied  them  repeatedly.  The  gallant  fellows 
followed  him  to  their  posts,  but  only  to  be  shot  down 
mercilessly.  The  fight  had  lasted  thirty  minutes  when 
the  captain  fell,  struck  by  a  round  shot  in  the  breast,  and 
died  instantly.  Lieutenant  Dolliver  shared  the  fate  of 
Captain  Peterson.  Lieutenant  Allen  was  shot  down 
soon  after.  Two  infantry  lieutenants  sank  beneath  their 
wounds.  Captain  Jewett  was  stricken  next.  Lieutenant 
Hall  commanded  till  he  fell.  Dead  and  dying  strowed 
the  decks.  A  plunging  shot,  penetrating  double  case- 
mating,  crashed  through  the  pilot  house,  and  Enfield  bul- 
lets perforated  the  iron  sheathing.  A  fireman  had  one 
leg  cut  smoothly  off;  a  boatswain's  mate  received  a  shot 
which  tore  the  bones  of  both  his  legs  completely  out. 
McNally,  one  of  the  engineers,  was  killed  by  a  fragment 
which  came  crushing  through  the  engine-room  from  a 
shell  that  had  exploded  in  the  wheel-house.  These 
strange  freaks  of  violence  were  noted  amid  clouds  of 
scalding  steam  that  filled  the  space  below,  to  which  all 
living  men  were  fleeing  for  shelter. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULP.  5201 

So  the  fight  went  on,  for  nearly  three  hours,  our  de- 
voted gun-boat  making  two  miles  down  the  crooked  bayou. 
Three  officers  directed  successively — Lieut.  Harry  West- 
ern the  last ;  and,  during  half  the  running  of  that  terri- 
ble gauntlet,  this  gallant  young  commander  strove  to 
save  his  boat,  refusing  to  surrender.  When  the  pilot 
and  an  engineer  had  swum  ashore,  and  all  the  working  oi 
the  engine  devolved  on  Lieutenant  Mars ;  when  the  ex- 
haust-pipe had  been  severed,  and  the  engine-room  was 
choked  with  vapor — steam  at  one  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  pressure,  and  the  boat  unmanageable ;  when,  in 
fine,  all  efforts  to  escape  were  plainly  futile,  then  stout 
Harry  Western  gave  the  signal  of  surrender.  It  was  time. 

Rebels  on  the  banks  were  wild  with  joy.  Our  steamer's 
boats  had  all  been  riddled,  or  shot  from  their  davits,  and 
the  Confederate  officers  came  aboard  in  sugar-coolers. 
One  delirious  ranger  could  not  wait  for  transportation, 
but  leaped  into  the  bayou  and  swam  off  to  the  Diana. 
He  was  a  Texan,  and  pealed  out  an  Indian  whoop.  Then, 
spying  a  violin  belonging  to  the  chief  engineer,  Lieute- 
nant Mars,  he  clutched  it,  jumped  again  into  the  water, 
gained  a  bank,  and,  mounting  on  a  caisson,  played  and 
danced  the  tune  of  "Dixie."  Then  his  comrades  pad- 
dled out  in  sugar-coolers,  and  began  to  swarm  upon  our 
gun-boat. 

But,  in  such  a  gun-boat  as  it  now  appeared,  no  one 
might  recognise  our  trim  Diana.  The  scene,  above  and 
below,  was  ruin  refined  upon.  The  upper  works  were 
riddled  like  a  sieve  from  stem  to  stern.  Every  berth 
was  cut  in  splinters.  Chairs,  tables,  knives  and  forks, 
books,  broken  glass  and  china,  shattered  panels,  blood- 
wet  beds  and  pools  of  gore — and  the  dead  and  wounded — 
were  everywhere. 

Such  was  the  Diana's  fight — a  desperate  and  stubborn 


202          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

effort  to  escape  from  overwhelming  force  and  numbers. 
Had  the  odds  been  less  unequal,  or  a  chance  left  for  re- 
sistance, those  gallant  youngsters  who  survived  would 
have  come  off  victorious,  or  sunk,  with  their  vessel. 
But  an  ambuscade  in  Louisiana  bayous!  one  might  as 
well  fight  the  air  as  attempt  defence  against  a  foe  as  im- 
pervious as  ubiquitous. 


DEPABTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  203 


CHAPTER    XX. 

FRANKLIN,    ON   THE    TEC  HE. 

ON  the  fifth  of  July  we  awake  to  discover  ourselves  at 
Franklin,  on  the  Teche.  Parting  from  my  friendly  steam- 
boat captain,  I  follow  the  negro  lad  who  shoulders  my 
trunk,  and  soon  find  myself,  with  the  other  prisoners,  at 
a  spacious  hotel;  or  what  had  formerly  been  one,  but 
was  now  devoted  to  surgeons,  nurses,  and  sick  and 
wounded  rebels.  Lieut.  Stevenson  is  placed  in  a  lower 
ward  of  the  hospital,  and  my  fellow-officers,  with  Stratton 
and  wife,  are  conducted  to  a  rear  gallery,  on  the  second 
story,  overlooking  a  quadrangular  court.  Three  rooms 
opened  from  one  side  of  this  gallery,  and  Col.  Nott, 
Sherman,  and  myself  were  assigned  the  middle  one.  Our 
married  couple  flanked  us  in  one  apartment,  and  the  other, 
as  we  speedily  learned,  was  occupied  by  two  Federal 
surgeons  and  a  Massachusetts  officer,  captured  at  Bra- 
shear  City. 

Our  change  of  quarters  had  not  been  for  the  worst. 
Here  we  were  comfortable  and  quiet;  though  strictly 
guarded,  night  and  day,  by  half  a  dozen  rebel  rangers  with 
loaded  muskets,  who  patrolled,  by  turns,  the  gallery. 
They  were  civil  fellows,  however,  bringing  us  water,  and 
accompanying  us,  with  cocked  pieces,  when  we  stepped 
beyond  the  gallery.  Their  unsophisticated  back-woods 
traits  were  evident,  and  I  amused  myself  with  classifying 
them.  One  was  a  gay  "Lothario,"  Russen,  who  skir- 
mished continually,  on  the  gallery,  with  "secesh"  dam- 


204          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

sels;  another,  "O'Neal,"  was  a  Vidocq  in  watchfulness. 
If  one  of  us  turned  over,  in  the  night,  this  alert  sentry 
would  click  his  gun-trigger  at  the  window.  "  Miller,"  a 
German,  was  inclined  to  Unionism,  but  the  corporal,  a 
polite  youth,  was  rebel  to  the  spine. 

Our  fare,  at  this  hospital,  was  excellent;  coffee  being 
brought  us  at  daylight,  and  a  bountiful  breakfast  served 
by  a  negro  waiter  about  nine  o'clock.  Between  four  and 
five,  P.  M.,  an  ample  dinner  was  brought  up — cloth  and 
table  being  set,  and  coffee  following  the  meal.  A  courteous 
young  Parisian,  attached  to  some  staff,  as  a  lieutenant, 
was  very  attentive  to  Col.  Nott,  whose  acquaintance  he 
had  made ;  and  sundry  bottles  of  choice  Falkirk  ale,  with 
other  dainties,  were  consequential  kindnesses  thereof. 
Opportunely,  likewise,  one  day,  a  present  of  fresh  butter 

arrived  from  Madame  P ,  the  lady  whom  I  had  met 

at  Dr.  R s  house,  on  Berwick  Bay,  and  who  was  an 

acquaintance  of  Col.  Nott's  father — a  captain  in  the  staff 
of  General  Bowen,  in  New  Orleans.  This  lady's  plan- 
tation was  near  Franklin,  on  the  Teche.  Altogether,  our 
fortnight  at  Franklin — apart  from  its  close  confinement — 
was  no  unpleasant  interlude  of  the  prison-drama. 

On  the  19th  of  July,  we  left  this  hospital,  for  a  march, 
in  charge  of  Lieut.  Duncan,  of  Speight's  battalion,  and 
nine  guards.  We  parted  from  the  two  Yankee  surgeons, 
who  were  to  be  immediately  paroled,  but  took  with  us 
their  room-mate,  Lieut.  Humble,  of  the  Fourth  Massa- 
chusetts Infantry.  Outside  of  the  hospital,  we  joined  a 
batch  of  Union  prisoners,  captured  at  Brashear  City  and 
on  the  Lafourche  bayou.  They  consisted  mainly  of 
citizens,  but  there  were  three  Federal  oflicers,  one  of 
them  a  fellow  New  Yorker,  Captain  Fred.  Van  Tine,  of 
the  181st  New  York  Volunteers,  and  the  other  two 
Lieutenants  Basset  and  Wilson,  of  the  48th  Massachusetts 


DEPABTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  205 

Infantry.  They  had  been  captured  near  Donaldsonville, 
on  the  Lafourche,  and  from  them  we  received  the  wel- 
come intelligence  that  both  Vicksburg  and  Port  Hudson 
were  ours.  It  was  glorious  news,  to  inspire  us  for  the 
march,  and  enabled  us  to  step  out  quite  manfully. 

Port  Hudson  surrendered  on  the  8th  day  of  July,  and 
immediately  afterwards  troops  were  dispatched  down  the 
river,  to  Donaldsonville,  which  the  rebels,  who  had 
captured  Brashear  City  and  the  railroad,  were  then 
threatening  in  heavy  force.  Capt.  Van  Tine's  regiment, 
the  131st  New  York  Infantry,  arrived  at  Donaldsonville, 
on  the  12th  of  July,  and  on  the  same  day  marched,  with 
remnants  of  several  regiments,  in  a  brigade  of  about 
fifteen  hundred,  to  drive  the  rebels  down  Bayou  La- 
fourche. Skirmishing  and  desultory  fighting  commenced 
at  once,  continuing  through  the  day  and  night;  and  on 
the  following  morning  our  young  captain  was  sent  to  the 
front,  in  a  skirmish  line  of  about  fifty  men  extended  a 
half-mile,  on  one  side  of  the  bayou — General  Dudley  and 
Col.  Martin,  with  another  brigade,  being  on  the  opposite 
bank.  It  was  while  engaged  in  a  brisk  skirmish  with 
the  enemy,  at  the  front,  that  Captain  Van  Tine  found 
himself  suddenly  charged  by  a  heavy  mass  of  cavalry, 
which,  getting  between  the  feeble  and  attenuated  skirmish 
line  and  our  main  body,  drove  the  latter  back  to  Donald- 
sonville, and  swallowed  the  former  up  bodily.  Our 
captain  and  his  brave  boys  fell  into  the  hands  of  rebels 
of  a  scurvy  character,  who  robbed  them  of  watches,  rings, 
and  other  valuables,  beat  the  feebler  ones  with  their 
sabres,  and  finished  by  marching  the  enlisted  men  within 
a  few  miles  of  our  lines,  where  they  stripped  them  of  all 
remaining  property,  administered  a  hasty  parole,  and 
left  them  to  find  their  own  way  to  liberty.  Captain  Van 
Tine,  and  two  Massachusetts  lieutenants,  were  conveyed 


206  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

to  Thibodeaux  jail,  and  thence  to  Brashear  and  Franklin, 
whence  they  joined  our  party,  for  a  tramp  across  the 
prairies. 

Our  "  coffle"  was  a  straggling  one.  The  rebel  guards 
on  horseback  rode  in  front  and  rear,  and  our  motley  gang 
of  prisoners  tramped  the  dusty  road  between.  We 
marched  fifteen  miles  that  day,  and  camped  about  dusk 
at  a  sugar-house,  sleeping  in  wagon-bodies,  which  we  found 
Tinder  the  sheds.  We  had  one  large  wagon,  drawn  by 
six  mules.  In  this  vehicle  were  carried  our  baggage  and 
rations.  It  was  an  ambulance,  also,  though  a  rough  one, 
for  our  wounded  comrade,  Lieutenant  Stevenson,  a  couch 

and  six  for  Mrs.  S and  an  occasional  stage  for  such  of 

the  prisoners  as  gave  out  on  the  road.  Our  rations  con- 
sisted of  flour,  corn-meal,  and  bacon.  Bread  was  cooked 
for  us  by  negroes,  at  the  halting-places,  and  our  bacon 
toasted  at  the  camp-fires,  on  a  forked  stick,  gave  a  savory 
relish  to  the  meal, 

Starting  next  morning  at  daybreak,  we  halted,  for  din- 
ner, on  the  banks  of  the  Teche,  where  our  corn  was 
cooked  at  a  planter's  house,  in  the  shape  of  hot  "  pones," 
which  we  sweetened  with  "  syrup."  Here  we  met  a 
pleasant  French  physician,  who  examined  Lieut.  Steven- 
son's foot,  and  declared  that  its  condition  did  not  war- 
rant our  wounded  officer  to  continue  his  journey  beyond 
New  Iberia.  Resuming  our  travels,  I  began  to  take 
note  of  the  "citizen-prisoners."  Besides  Stratton,  the 
"Northern  planter,"  and  Parce,  the  publican,  there  was 
an  old  man,  named  Holliday,  who  had  been  the  lessee  of 
a  plantation  near  Brashear  City,  and  was  one  of  the  most 
garrulous  and  truculent  of  veterans,  denouncing  rebels 
without  stint,  whenever  they  were  out  of  ear-shot.  He 
showed  himself  a  stout  pedestrian,  and  kept  among  our  fore- 
most. Clark  and  Knowlton,  who  had  been  assistants  of 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  207 

Stratton  on  his  government  plantation,  a  young  fellow 
named  Emerson,  accused  by  the  rebels  with  having  twice 
deserted  their  service ;  a  couple  of  old  Creoles,  charged 
with  having  favored  Federals,  a  negro  who  was  said  to 
have  shot  a  rebel  sergeant,  and  a  noisy  nondescript,  who 
formerly  sold  newspapers  in  our  Brashear  camps — and 
was,  doubtless,  a  spy — with]  Haley,  a  clerk,  made  up 
our  civilian  party  on  the  march  to  New  Iberia.  There 
had  been  another  prisoner  brought  with  the  citizens,  to 
Franklin,  but  he  had  escaped  on  the  night  before  our 
departure,  by  descending  a  rope  from  the  window.  This 
man,  named  Thomson,  had  been  arrested  at  his  home,  on 
the  Teche,  for  having,  as  was  said,  displayed  a  Union 
flag  when  our  troops  marched  up  the  bayou.  The  rebels 
at  Franklin  expressed  much  anxiety  to  recapture  and 
hang  this  "  Lincoln  sympathizer." 


208          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

PRAIRIE   TRAVELING. 

I  AM  resting  in  the  wagon,  after  a  tramp  of  ten  miles, 
and  we  are  nearly  in  sight  of  New  Iberia,  when,  crack! 
bang !  pistols  and  rifles  explode,  and  the  air  is  suddenly 
thick  with  clouds  of  dust.  Roaring,  shouting,  and  a 
plunging  of  mules,  confuse  our  senses,  for  a  moment,  and 
in  the  next  we  become  witness  of  a  general  stampede 
among  guards  and  prisoners.  A  vicious  bull  has  broken 
from  a  drove  of  cattle  near  by,  and,  careering,  madly,  down 
the  road,  carries  terror  into  the  ranks  of  bipeds.  Officers 
and  citizens  ingloriously  disperse,  and  two  or  three  over- 
vigilant  guards,  apprehensive  of  an  attempt  to  escape, 
send  bullets  flying  after  the  fugitives.  From  our  ram- 
part, the  wagon,  a  few  of  us  enjoy  the  sport ;  but  for  a 
minute  or  more,  there  really  seems  danger  to  the  foot- 
farers.  But  the  bull  is  brought  to  bay,  our  guards 
resume  position,  and  we  soon  after  enter  New  Iberia, 
and  are  halted  in  front  of  the  Provost  Marshal's  office. 
Here  we  become  a  mark  for  rebel  citizens,  home  guards, 
and  such  gentry,  who  make  us  aware  of  their  rather 
unamiable  disposition  toward  us,  by  significant  remarks 
about  hanging,  shooting,  and  other  summary  modes  of 
dealing  with  Yankee  prisoners.  We  proceed  thence  to 
an  old  saw  mill,  near  the  river,  where,  having  cooked  our 
rations,  we  endeavor,  in  a  heavy  shower  of  rain,  to  get 
ourselves  sheltered  till  morning.  Lieut.  Stevenson,  who 
has  suffered  severely  from  his  wound,  during  two  days 


DEPAETMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  209 

of  tedious  wagon-jolting,  is  here  remanded  to  a  hospital, 
and  will  remain,  under  care,  till  restored  to  a  better 
condition  for  journeying.  I  spread  my  blankets  on  some 
boards  in  the  saw-mill,  and  the  rest  dispose  themselves 
as  comfortably  as  possible,  when  an  abrupt  order  arrives 
from  the  provost-marshal,  requiring  us  to  move.  An 
ass,  in  the  lion-skin  of  authority,  named  Brien,  notifies 
Lieut.  Duncan  that  no  Yankee  prisoners  will  be  permitted 
to  remain  within  the  town-limits.  Our  Texan  and  his 
men  are  exercised  not  a  little  by  this  order,  and  visit  no 
light  maledictions  on  this  Louisianian  provost-marshal,  as 
well  as  on  Louisianians  and  provost-marshals  generally. 
"If  I  had  a  hundred  Texans,  instead  of  nine,"  cries  the 
bold  lieutenant,  "I'd  clear  out  this  one-horse  town  of 
all  the  mean  'Cagians  in  it!"  But  swearing  is  no  help 
for  us;  so  we  load  up,  in  the  rain,  and,  with  much  grum- 
bling of  everybody,  get  started  for  another  location. 

Our  provoked  commander  is  determined  to  go  no 
farther  then  compelled,  this  night;  and  we  halt,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  our  first  location,  at  an  old  sugar- 
house  just  beyond  the  "Newtown"  precincts.  Here, 
unloading  once  more,  in  wet  and  darkness,  we  bivouac 
under  the  eaves  of  sheds,  and,  after  a  contest  with  fleas 
for  possession,  resign  ourselves  to  the  slumber  of  wea- 
riness: 

At  six  o'clock,  next  morning,  we  have  breakfasted,  and 
are  on  the  march,  with  lively  remembrances  of  provost- 
marshal  Brien.  The  day  is  hot,  but  we  proceed  twelve 
miles  before  halting,  when  we  enjoy  a  good  meal  and 
noontime  siesta  at  a  farm-house  pleasantly  shaded  with 
orange-trees.  Turning  off,  then,  from  the  Teche  high- 
way, we  strike  off  toward  the  prairies,  and  after  a  tramp 
of 'seven  miles,  reach  a  roadside  house  of  entertainment, 
called  the  "  Texas  Hotel,"  where  we  get  an  excellent 


210          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

supper,  at  Lieut.  Duncan's  expense,  and  take  shelter 
from  a  night-squall  in  beds  that,  despite  the  fleas,  prove 
decidedly  welcome. 

Five  o'clock  A.  M.  finds  us  moving,  next  day ;  crossing 
Vermillion  Bayou  at  the  outset,  and  pursuing  our  march 
toward  another  stream,  calL  d  "Queue-tortite"  or  "Turtle- 
tail  bayou."  On  this  day,  I  ride  a  few  miles  on  a  pony, 
loaned  by  one  of  the  guards,  and  have  the  luck  to  discover  a 
bunch  of  onions  hanging  in  a  deserted  hut  on  the  prairie. 

These  guards  of  ours  are  good-hearted  fellows ;  always 
ready  to  accommodate,  and,  like  their  officer,  inclined  to 
favor  us  as  much  as  possible.  "  Gentlemen, "  remarks 
Lieut.  Duncan  to  the  Federal  officers — "I  shall  consider 
you  under  parole,  and  place  no  guard  about  you.  We 
must  watch  these  yer  citizens,  and  if  that  deserter  thar 
tries  to  run,  I'll  put  a  ball  through  him  right  smart;  but 
you  all,  that  are  officers,  may  just  consider  yourselves 
under  parole  of  honor.  That's  enough  between  soldiers, 
gentlemen!" 

So  we  get  on  very  amicably.  Corporal  Wiggins,  or 
"  Corporal  X,"  as  his  comrades  ca'u  him,  is  our  dashing 
cavalier,  who  makes  wild  rushes  off  to  right  and  left, 
visiting  houses  in  the  timber.  He  is  a  capital  rider,  like 
all  Texans,  but  I  would  not  back  him  as  a  sharp-shooter. 
I  think  he  discharged  five  barrels  of  his  revolver  at  a 
chicken,  within  eight  feet,  this  morning,  without  any 
effect  but  a  crow  of  derision  from  the  feathered  biped. 
We  have  another  corporal,  Handkomer,  an  honest, 
genial  fellow,  and  his  brother,  of  the  same  stamp;  "Bill 
Clowes,"  a  ranger,  full  of  "  yarns,"  who  rides  a  silken- 
hided  mare,  with  the  pretty  name  of  "  Red-bird ;" 
Caspar,  a  German,  who  likes  to  grumble ;  John  Weed,  in 
green  goggles,  who  keeps  a  sharp  look-out  for  straggling 
citizens,  but  is  a  simple,  warm-hearted  man ;  Weldon  and 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  211 

Chapman,  young  Texans ;  and  a  curious  nondescript 
named  Bell-air,  whom  the  rest  of  them  call  a  "  'Cagian,', 
and  who  has  acquaintances  among  all  the  French  Creoles 
on  our  route. 

I  must  here  explain  that  a  "  'Cagian"  is  one  of  those 
dwellers  on  prairie  or  bayou-marge,  whom  we  find  com- 
posing a  large  portion  of  the  population  of  Lower  Lou- 
isiana. Many  possess  small  plantations  on  lands  re- 
claimed from  the  wilderpess,  or  near  a  "  timber-island," 
or  the  banks  of  a  stream,  which  in  rainy  seasons  over- 
flows, and  in  droughts  becomes  a  bog  or  shallow.  The 
"  'Cagian's"  isolated  dwelling,  "  la  cassine,"  often  gives 
name  to  the  small  water  course  in  its  neighborhood;  and 
he  dwells  with  his  family  in  almost  patriarchal  simplicity 
and  primitive  seclusion.  Often,  in  traversing  an  exten- 
sive prairie,  you  will  find  the  dwelling  of  one  of  these 
planters,  encompassed  with  orange  or  peach  trees,  and 
surrounded  by  ploughed  fields  ;  his  wife  and  black-eyed 
daughters  engaged  in  spinning  or  lariat-twisting ;  his 
stout  sons  attending  to  herds  of  cattle  on  the  prairie. 
Here  the  more,  thrifty  "  'Cagian"  passes  his  days,  con- 
tent with  simple  comforts,  and  coveting  no  luxuries  be- 
yond his  swift  ponies  and  giant-horned  oxen.  The  poorer 
"  'Cagian"  builds  his  cabin  in  swamps  or  pine-barrens, 
and  makes  a  precarious  living  by  fishing  or  hunting. 
But  neither  the  very  comfortable  planter,  with  his  brace 
or  more  of  slaves,  nor  the  sallow-cheeked  habitant  of  an 
isolated  cabin,  has  much  affinity  with  nabobs  of  wealthy 
Louisianian  parishes  ;  those  sugar-lords  who  number  their 
human  stock  as  our  cattle-breeding  "  'Cagian"  counts  his 
yearlings.  The  dogmas  of  "secession"  and  "state  rights" 
have  no  charms  for  these  independent  denizens  of  forest 
and  prairie,  whose  ranks  have  furnished,  in  other  days, 
the  Red  River  "voyageur"  the  bee-hunter,  and  the 


212          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

trapper.  Therefore,  we  find  these  people  loth  to  follow 
rebel-lead,  and  often  in  conflict  with  the  military  forces 
which  strive  to  drag  them  from  their  humble  homes  as 
conscripts. 

"But  what  is  the  "  'Cagian?"  and  why  is  he  called  by 
this  name  ?"  I  am  asked ;  and  reply,  that,  to  the  best  of 
my  belief,  he  is  the  descendant  of  those  original  French 
settlers  who,  under  tempting  promises  of  French  prime 
ministers,  or  magnificent  scheming  of  Scotch  John  Law, 
came  out  to  New  World  colonies,  to  die  of  hardships  and 
poverty,  and  leave  a  like  fortune  as  heritage  for  their 
children.  The  wide-spread  French  possessions,  reaching 
from  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  were  once 
known  as  "Acadie,"  and  their  Creole  inhabitants  de- 
scribed as  "  Acadiens."  An  ancient  French  pronuncia- 
tion is  still  retained  in  the  corruption,  "  'Cagians,"  used 
indiscriminately  by  Texans,  to  designate  the  poor  Creole 
Louisianians  who  dwell  on  prairie  and  bayou  between 
the  Sabine  and  Mississippi. 

Our  third  morning's  march  from  New  Iberia  was  a  hot 
and  weary  one,  and  we  were  glad,  indeed,  to  reach,  near 
noon,  a  prairie  "  ranche,"  as  the  Texans  called  it,  occu- 
pied by  a  "  'Cagian,"  who  spoke  excellent  French,  and 
informed  us  that  the  spot  was  called  "  Tasso's  grove." 
The  Creole  himself,  who  entertained  us  hospitably,  on 
rich  milk,  hot  bread,  and  peaches,  and  accompanied  us 
several  miles  on  our  way,  was  an  intelligent  man,  and 
had  a  picturesque  face,  which,  as  if  in  conformity  to  the 
name  of  his  residence,  resembled  much  our  portraits  of 
Torquato  Tasso.  From  this  pleasant  resting-place,  we 
proceeded,  after  dinner,  to  a  piece  of  timber  known  as 
Peach-tree  point,  where  was  situated  the  house,  or  "la 
cassine"  as  our  "  'Cagian"  said,  of  one  Miles  Wells,  for 
whom  our  Texan  commander  had  a  message  from  some 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  213 

rebel  comrade.  Here  we  replenished  our  canteens,  but, 
finding  no  corn  for  the  mules,  pushed  on  toward  another 
camping-place. 

Bill  Clowes  had  lent  me  his  •'  Red-bird,"  for  a  "lift" 
upon  the  road,  and  I  was  jogging  on,  with  the  guard, 
when  we  were  suddenly  drenched  by  a  heavy  thunder 
shower.  Striking  into  a  gallop,  with  "  Corporal  X,"  we 
speedily  made  our  way  to  a  "  ranche"  which  lay  to  our 
left,  on  the  prairie,  and,  reaching  it,  found  a  deserted 
log-house,  quite  roomy  and  dry,  with  a  contiguous  cottage, 
likewise  vacant,  but  containing  a  bed  and  other  furniture. 
I  proceeded  to  select  a  spot  whereon  to  bivouac,  discov- 
ered a  shallow  feed-trough,  which  I  appropriated  as  a 
cradle,  and  therein  spread  my  blankets,  under  a  shed 
that  sheltered  the  porch.  Meantime,  "  Corporal  X," 
"prospecting"  for  whatever  might  be  "lying  around 
loose,"  extracted  an  old  wooden  saddle-tree  out  of  a  dry 
water-cask,  and  presented  it  to  me,  as  earnest  of  future 
"  transportation."  The  wagon,  with  our  supplies,  pre- 
sently came  up.  Stratton  and  his  wife  soon  made  them- 
selves comfortable  in  a  "furnished  cottage,"  and,  after  a 
light  supper,  we  all  bestowed  ourselves  snugly. 

The  next  day  saw  me  "mounted."  Corporal  Hand- 
komer  had  brought  with  him  from  Franklin  a  fine  Ameri- 
can horse,  of  great  size  and  strength,  which  had  been  led, 
thus  far,  for  lack  of  an  extra  saddle.  But  my  prize  on 
the  night  previous,  in  the  shape  of  a  wooden  tree,  of 
Spanish  pattern,  was  speedily  turned  to  account  by  our 
clever  guards,  who  at  once  interested  themselves  in  get- 
ting up  an  ••  establishment"  for  me.  "  Corporal  X"  man- 
ufactured a  pair  of  tough  stirrups  out  of  a  strip  of  ox- 
hide ;  Bill  Clowes  furnished  pack-strings ;  Handkomer 
supplied  blanket  and  girth  ;  and  in  a  short  time  I  found 
myself  once  more  of  the  "  equestrian"  order.  I  shall 


214  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

not  venture  to  boast  of-  the  figure  which  I  cut,  after 
climbing  to  a  perilous  altitude  on  the  top  of  saddle, 
great-coat,  and  blankets ;  let  it  suffice  that  I  realized  an 
agreeable  change  from  the  weary  foot-work,  in  jack-boots 
of  previous  days.  Gayly  enough,  I  trotted  ahead  of  the 
wagon,  that  morning,  and  pushed  on  briskly  to  a  roadside 
"  inn,"  where  I  ordered  breakfast  for  the  party,  and 
awaited  their  coming,  like  an  independent  traveler.  We 
obtained  a  fresh  and  bountiful  meal,  at  this  place,  paying 
for  it  the  reasonable  sum  of  a  dollar  per  capita  in  Confed- 
rate  currency  ;  whereafter,  ascending  once  more  to  my 
camel's  hump,  I  continued  the  journey  rejoicingly. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  215 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

CROSSING    THE    BIG    MARY. 

t  SHALL  never  forget  my  journey  over  those  Louisi- 
anian  prairies  that  stretch  between  the  Teche  country 
and  Sabine  river  on  the  Texas  border.  It  seems  to  me 
that  I  can  still  behold  the  long,  long  miles  of  sun-burnt 
road  extending  to  a  timber  island,  and  the  green,  cool 
shades  on  reaching  one ;  the  isolated  ranches  and  dis- 
mantled log-huts;  the  continuous  line  of  telegraph-posts, 
decaying  in  their  sockets  ere  a  wire  was  fixed  to  them ; 
the  herds  of  cattle  and  wild  horses;  the  short,  stunted 
herbage;  the  low  water-courses,  dried-up  springs,  and 
miry  bogs,  that  in  the  rainy  season  swell  to  freshets — all 
these  features  of  the  route  are  stamped  on  memory  as  if 
branded  by  hot  iron.  Every  foot  of  arid  ground  was 
measured  by  the  tread  of  weary  prisoners,  marching 
through  the  parching  hours,  depressed,  home-sick,  and 
hopeless. 

I  cut  a  grotesque  figure,  very  likely,  when  mounted  on 
a  mammoth  horse,  the  loan  of  my  indulgent  guard.  La 
Mancha's  errant  knight  would  have  been  "nowhere'*  in 
my  company,  and  Ichabod  Crane's  dread  charger,  "Gun- 
powder," was  but  a  mustang-pony  to  my  steed  colossal. 
I  had  my  naked  saddle-tree  bound  on  the  courser's  spine, 
above  a  blanket,  with  the  piece  of  lariat.  An  ancient 
overcoat  served  for  saddle-cloth,  and  gave  my  seat  a 
level  with  the  horse's  ears.  No  bridle  had  I,  but  a  lariat 
noosed  around  the  under  lip  and  jaw  of  my  poor  barb 


216  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THJii 

kept  him  in  prompt  subjection.  Stirrups  I  boasted. 
They  were  loops  of  ox-hide,  pendent  by  two  cords  of 
cotton  from  the  saddle-tree.  Thus  mounted,  and  "ac- 
coutred as  I  was,"  in  dusty  shirt,  blue  trousers,  and 
jack-boots,  with  hat  slouched  over  my  brows,  I  might  have 
seemed  a  melodramatic  brigand  going  to  execution,  or  a 
jayhawker  led  out  to  be  "  lynched." 

Lieut.  Duncan  was  always  a  companionable  fellow, 
though  "secesh"  to  the  backbone;  stern,  when  he  cnose 
to  be,  and  ready  to  draw  revolver  on  a  fugitive,  but 
courteous  withal,  and  genial,  in  his  way.  He  looked  at 
me  with  curious  gaze,  when  first  I  met  his  eye,  thus 
mounted  and  caparisoned.  A  merry  twinkle  answered 
my  "Good  morning."  "Til  bet  you,"  said  he,  "that 
your  own  wife  would  not  know  you." 

"Maybe  not,  lieutenant,"  I  replied,  "I  wish  I  were 
at  home  to  try  her,  however." 

"I'd  like  to  send  you  thar,"  rejoined  the  Texan,  "and 
write  your  wife  to  keep  you  thar,"  he  added. 

So  we  jog  on  gently ;  for  a  trot  or  gallop  would  be 
fatal  to  my  equilibrium,  perched  upon  this  pinnacle  of 
horse-flesh.  The  lieutenant  and  I  make  detours  on  the 
prairie,  while  our  wagon,  and  the  line  of  prisoners  on 
foot,  and  Texan  guard  on  ponies,  keep  the  half-obliterated 
stage-road.  In  an  hour  we  find  ourselves  a  mile  or  two 
behind,  my  fellow  cavalier  shooting  several  prairie-hens 
and  other  wilderness  game.  We  presently  arrive  at  a 
wide  bog. 

''Big  Mary!"  says  the  lieutenant,  who  has  crossed  this 
prairie  more  than  once  before.  "  I  swum  my  horse  yer, 
when  I  travelled  this  range  the  last  time." 

"What!  swum  that  mud-hole?" 

"I  reckon  so,"  returned  the  Texan.  "There  was  right 
smart  o'  water  yer  abouts  the  day  I  forded  it." 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  217 

This,  then,  I  mentally  repeated,  is  the  "Grand  Marie," 
marked  on  old  Louisiana  maps  as  a  broad-flowing  river. 
I  looked  around  upon  the  muddy  bottom,  and  could  see 
wide  hollows,  where  some  shallow  pools  of  water  were 
yet  lingering.  But  no  trace  of  a  great  river-bed  was 
visible. 

"You'd  hardly  believe  it,"  added  the  lieutenant;  "but 
'twas  a  heap  harder  fording  this  yer  Big  Mary  than  Ver- 
million  Bayou,  that  we've  passed,  or  yonder  'Monteau 
river.  The  water  out  yer  riz  a  right  smart  freshet  in 
the  rains.  Here  we  are  right  on  to  whar  the  ford  was. 
Thar's  a  heap  o'  mud  yer.  I'll  pick  out  a  trail." 

So  saying,  the  lieutenant  pushed  his  pony  in  advance, 
and  crossed  a  sort  of  causeway,  sinking  fetlock  deep  in 
mud.  I  followed  in  his  track,  my  heavier  animal  getting 
almost  mired  in  the  first  steps.  The  Texan  reined  his 
steed  on  the  solid  prairie,  and  looked  back  upon  my 
slipping  charger. 

"  Try  a  small  piece  to  the  right !  I  reckon  thar's  a 
better  place  to  cross !"  he  called  to  me ;  and,  following 
his  directions,  I  drew  hard  upon  my  horse's  under  jaw 
with  dexter  digits.  In  another  moment  we  were  floun- 
dering in  the  bog,  my  boot-tops  sunk  below  the  mud 
level,  and'  thick,  adhesive  mire  half  swallowing  steed 
and  rider. 

Well  it  was  for  the  man,  that  neither  lariat  girth  nor  ox- 
hide stirrup  failed  in  tough  tenacity.  Quite  fortunate 
for  the  horse,  that  he  was  strong  and  resolute,  or  perhaps 
Big  Mary  had  become  a  Yankee  grave  that  day. 

The  brave  lieutenant,  who  at  first  waxed  merry  over 
our  deep  wallowing,  grew  presently  quite  anxious  for  the 
safety  of  his  prisoner. 

"  Hold  on  right  smart!"  he  halloed.  "  That's  -a  great 
animal  under  you  !  Give  him  the  spur,  right  smart !" 


218  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

But  I  could  not  give  him  the  "spur,"  not  being  pro- 
vided with  those  knightly  appendages.  I  dug  my  heels 
into  his  flanks  "right  smart,"  however,  and  held  on  with 
bent  toes  and  thigh  bones  tighter  than  the  Old  Man  of 
the  Sea  clung  to  Sinbad's  shoulders.  Meantime,  the 
poor  beast,  strong  and  gallant  as  he  was,  and  struggling, 
as  he  did,  most  vigorously,  was  sinking  deeper  with  each 
plunge,  and  I  began  to  think  of  "  dying  in  the  last  ditch," 
when,  providentially,  one  giant  effort  lifted  us  to  firmer 
ground.  I  felt  the  horse's  forelegs  planted,  while  he 
strained  the  veins  and  muscles  of  his  neck,  until  they 
looked  like  ropes.  I  spoke  to  him  in  cheering  tones, 
and  with  a  noble  leap  he  rose  completely  from  the  bog, 
and  we  were  safe  again.  I  glanced  at  our  condition : 
mired  from  head  to  heels  ;  my  jack-boots  half  drawn  off; 
my  breeches  showing  a  mud-line  nearly  to  the  waist- 
band. I  expected  momentarily  to  hear  a  horselaugh 
from  the  Texan.  But  his  voice  was  quick  and  earnest 
when  it  reached  me. 

"  Look  yer !"  he  shouted. 

I  looked  as  he  pointed,  and  beheld  an  alligator,  huge 
and  ugly  as  any  fabled  dragon,  slowly  crawling  through 
the  mud,  a  rod  or  two  beyond  the  spot  where  I  had  been 
"  bogged."  He  was  a  monster,  more  than  twelve  feet 
long,  with  epidenvs  like  an  iron-clad  gun-boat.  He 
stretched  his  monstrous  flappers  out,  and  dragged  his 
horrible  hind  legs  acd  vast  tail  deliberately  toward  us. 
He  evidently  was  hungry.  His  great  upper  or  vertebral 
jaw  was  lifted  from  the  lower  one,  showing  such  a  che- 
veauz  defrise  of  tusks  as  might  have  crumbled  a  small 
man  easily. 

"Keep  quiet!"  said  the  lieutenant.  "I  reckon  that 
yer  alligator  would  ha'  liked  a  lunch  off  your  pony.  But 
I'll  fix  his  flint  sure  !" 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE   GULF.  219 

He  leveled  a  revolver,  as  he  spoke,  at  the  ponderous 
head  which  was  advancing.  His  arm  and  hand  appeared 
rigid  as  a  bar  of  iron.  Not  less  steady  was  the  red  In- 
dian pony  which  he  bestrode,  and  which  seemed  to  be 
eyeing  the  big  reptile  with  a  glance  as  cool  as  the  lieute- 
nant's.  Then  a  flash  darted  from  the  pistol,  and  I  heard 
a  bullet  whizz  beside  me.  It  struck  the  alligator  fairly 
in  one  eye,  which  jetted  out  a  stream  of  blood.  The 
saurian  made  a  wild  plunge  forward,  and  began  to  lash 
the  mud  with  long  sweeps  of  his  tail. 

"  I  think  that  bullet  has  got  into  his  head,"  I  remarked. 

"I  reckon  so,"  rejoined  the  Texan,  with  his  usual  em- 
phasis upon  the  little  adverb.  "  I'll  go  another  eye  on 
him,  this  yer  shot.'* 

He  loaded  again,  and  fired.  A  second  crimson  gush, 
straight  from  the  other  eye,  attested  the  consummate  ac- 
curacy of  the  Texan's  aim.  I  quietly  reflected  that  a 
runaway  prisoner  might  stand  little  chance  of  escaping 
scatheless  out  of  a  stern-chase,  with  this  frontier  marks- 
man following  him. 

Our  big  alligator  soon  was  quiet.  After  a  few  more 
flounderings,  and  a  shot  that  broke  one  flapper,  he  lay 
wallowing,  with  short,  dying  gasps,  in  the  bloody  mire. 

We  rode  on  briskly,  to  rejoin  our  wagon.  I  mentally 
recalled  my  recent  struggle  in  the  mud,  with  such  a 
neighbor  as  the  twelve-foot  alligator  in  striking  distance. 
Never  more  am  I  ambitious  of  crossing  the  "  Big  Mary." 


220         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

ENTERING    TEXAS. 

CROSSING  the  Mermonteau  river,  we  encamped  on  a 
timber  elevation,  near  Indian  Bayou.  Here  we  were 
overtaken  by  a  Confederate  officer,  going  home  to  Texas 
on  furlough.  He  brought  news  regarding  our  regiment ; 
having  been  captured  at  Thibodeaux,  and,  as  he  said, 
paroled,  by  Major  Morgans,  of  the  "  Ironsides."  Another 
day's  march  brought  us  to  the  Calcasieu  river,  a  broad, 
deep-flowing,  and  picturesquely-wooded  stream,  which 
we  crossed,  upon  a  horse-boat,  at  "  Clendenning's  Ferry." 
We  then  entered  upon  "Piney  Woods,"  losing  the  line 
of  telegraph-posts,  which  had  marked  our  prairie  high- 
way, but  finding  a  shaded  and  sylvan  road  for  miles 
along  the  river  banks. 

The  Calcasieu  is  navigable  for  small  steamers,  one  of 
which  we  saw  upon  its  waters.  Twelve  miles  below  the 
ferry  which  we  crossed,  is  another,  at  St.  Charles  Lake. 
At  that  point  several  steamers  and  small  sailing-craft 
were  captured  by  adventurous  Federals,  who  penetrated 
the  marshy  river-mouth  in  launches.  We  encamped,  this 
night,  under  pine-trees;  after  "Corporal  X"  had  made 
prize  of  a  mule,  which  he  "lassoed,"  in  true  Mexican 
style.  Musquitos  here  were  legion,  and  I  mentally 
thanked  the  fat  wife  of  my  servant  George,  whose  good 
nature  had  provided  me  with  a  gauze  shield  against  our 
ubiquitous  torment. 

On  Sabbath  day  July  26th,  we  found  ourselves,-  near 


DEPAETMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  221 

noon,  at  the  "ranche"  of  an  ex-postmaster,  Mr.  Escobas, 
who  once  kept  a  wilderness  store,  now  closed  and  empty 
of  goods.  This  intelligent  Creole  possessed  a  comfortable 
dwelling-house,  with  several  slaves,  and  was  notably 
"secesh"  in  his  proclivities.  But  I  availed  myself  of  his 
permission  to  boil  some  "Lincoln  coffee,"  which  our 
provident  Lieut.  Humble  had  purchased  from  the  thrifty 
surgeon  of  his  regiment,  before  leaving  Franklin.  An 
ancient  negress,  at  the  kitchen-outhouse,  prepared  a  deli- 
cious beverage  for  us,  in  her  French  "  biggin  ;"  furnishing 
milk  and  sugar,  ad  libitum,  and  imparting  her  confidential 
prayers  to  us  that  "Massa  Linkum"  might  sometime 
"  clar'  out"  the  rebels  "round  yer."  Poor  old  soul! 
with  sixty  winters  of  slavery  on  her  back,  she  endeavored 
to  lighten  their  weight  by  the  never-dying  hope  of  en- 
franchisement. 

Leaving  West-Fork  Post-office,  as  it  was  called,  we 
rode  a  mile  or  two,  halted  for  a  chat  with  "old  man 
Lyons,"  a  Baptist,  who  dwelt  with  his  family  in  the  next 
ranch,  and  thereafter  sought  out  a  "camping  ground," 
under  the  giant-pine-trees.  Having  enjoyed  a  good 
dinner  that  day,  I  made  my  supper  on  some  dried, 
or  "tassoed,"  beef,  which  Mr.  Ex-Po&tmaster  Escobas  had 
presented  to  me. 

We  were  on  the  road,  next  morning,  before  sunrise. 
Passing  a  Baptist  church,  secluded  in  the  forest  like  a 
hermitage;  halting  at  a  roadside  "tavern,"  noisy  with 
Confederate  travelers ;  and  getting  sight  of  a  pine-woods 
school-house  of  rough  logs,  full  of  frightened  urchins; 
we  reached,  about  meridian,  a  small  rebel  camp,  and 
shortly  afterwards  debouched  from  the  "  Piney  Woods," 
and  found  ourselves  at  Niblett's  Bluff. 

Hardly  were  we  fairly  disposed,  for  rest  and  refresh- 
ment, in  an  old  camp-ground,  where  Confederates  had 


222  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

left  traces  of  their  presence,  by  brush  shelters,  and  in  a 
big  tree,  where  they  had  "  hung  a  nigger,"  than  we  were 
welcomed  by  a  sudden  thunder-storm,  which,  "fierce  and 
fast,  in  ponderous  rain,  shot  down,  a  sheeted  flood."  I 
had  built  a  shed,  with  some  pine-boards,  and  attempted 
to  screen  myself  by  crawling  under  it,  upon  my  rubber- 
blanket.  But  the  shower  was  too  much  for  pine  eaves ; 
and  I  was  glad  to  follow  the  rest  of  our  party,  who  had 
retreated  toward  the  river-bank,  and  taken  refuge  in  a 
dilapidated  shanty  once  used  as  a  "  guard-house." 

Lieut.  Duncan  had  hoped  to  reach  Niblett's  Bluff  in 
time  for  embarkation  on  a  steamer,  which,  it  was  under- 
stood, left  twice  or  thrice  a  week  for  Beaumont,  to  con- 
nect with  cars  that  ran  to  Houston  City.  But  there  was 
no  boat  visible  when  we  arrived,  and  none  to  leave  for 
forty-eight  hours,  or  more.  We  proceeded,  therefore,  to 
make  ourselves  as  comfortable  as  possible,  under  the 
circumstances. 

Niblett's  Bluff  is  a  muddy,  barren,  disconsolate  village, 
of  a  dozen  straggling  huts  and  a  steamboat  landing.  It 
is  on  a  bank  of  the  Sabine  river,  in  Louisiana,  and  has 
served  as  a  sort  of  point  cPappui  for  Texan  expeditions 
toward  the  Mississippi.  Outside  of  our  guard-house 
shelter,  was  a  platform,  where  bales  of  cotton  and  hogs- 
heads of  sugar  were  "  dumped,"  awaiting  transportation ; 
and  both  guards  and  prisoners  were  soon  as  busy  as  bees 
collecting  sweets  from  the  saccharine  deposits.  With  a 
broken  cask  of  the  "best  clarified"  at  their  door,  one 
could  hardly  blame  our  Yankee  boys  for  "  foraging  on 
the  enemy." 

Morning,  at  Niblett's  Bluff,  was  inaugurated  by  a  good 
breakfast  at  the  "tavern,"  at  the  cost  of  $1.50  in  Con- 
federate paper.  The  landlady  was  a  "  host"  in  herself, 
and  consented  to  let  her  sable  laundress  wash  clothes  for 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  223 

some  of  us,  at  the  rate  of  $1,00  per  dozen.  "Yer  kin 
pay  that  ar'  price  jest  as  well  as  yer  kin  pay  a  dollar  a 
glass  for  whiskey!"  said  this  reasonable  female,  and  I 
agreed  with  her. 

I  was  shocked  to  see,  in  an  ante-room  of  the  tavern, 
a  young  yellow  girl  extended  on  the  filthy  floor,  sick 
with  fever,  and  apparently  dying.  Scarcely  sixteen  years 
old,  this  unfortunate  child  had  been  married  to  our 
major's  servant  Albert,  while  they  were  with  me,  at 
Tigerville.  She  had  left  her  mistress,  Madame  Turner, 
of  Terrebonne,  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  a  northern  hus- 
band. But  Albert,  accompanying  his  master  to  La- 
fourche,  could  not  protect  his  bride  ;  and  she  became  the 
prey  of  some  Texan  speculator,  who  had  brought  her  to 
Niblett's  Bluff.  Recognizing  the  poor  girl,  I  stooped, 
and  called  her  by  name.  She  turned  her  wandering  eyes 
toward  the  voice,  and  appeared  to  know  me,  but  re- 
lapsed immediately  into  painful  apathy.  I  never  saw 
her  afterwards. 

About  dusk,  that  evening,  the  steamer  Clotilda  arrived 
from  Beaumont,  and  we  were  ordered  aboard  of  her. 
Spreading  our  blankets  on  the  deck,  we  slept  comforta- 
bly, and,  at  five  o'clock,  A.  M.,  the  following  morning, 
found  ourselves  descending  the  Sabine.  Toward  even- 
ing, we  reached  the  Sabine  Lake,  and  came  in  sight  of 
the  "Pass,"  that  scene  of  more  than  one  disaster  to  our 
Federal  forces.  While  threading  the  bay-channel,  we 
grounded  several  times ;  and  two  negroes  were  con- 
stantly occupied  in  taking  soundings.  "  Three  and  a 
quarter— scant!"  and  "five  feet — large!"  chanted  mo- 
mentarily by  our  dusky  pilots,  attested  the  shallowness 
of  this  intricate  passage.  Had  our  steamer  drawn  more 
than  three  feet,  she  must  have  struck  fast  in  many  places. 

At  twilight  we  reached  Beaumont,  a  small,  scattered 


224  TWENTY  MONTHS   IN  THE 

village,  the  terminus  of  a  worn-out  track  called  the  New 
Orleans  and  Texas  Railroad.  Here  we  encamped  under 
trees;  and,  after  an  excellent  supper  at  the  "hotel,"  for 
which  I  disbursed  $1.50  (Confederate),  I  slept  soundly, 
as  usual,  and  awoke  refreshed. 

Rejoicing,  moreover,  in  the  good  fortune  of  another 
substantial  tavern-meal,  I  felt  prepared  for  sumptuous 
railway  travelling;  but  my  expectations  were  soon  mode- 
rated in  considering  the  choice  offered  us  by  the  surly 
conductor — either  to  ride  in  a  negro-car,  already  half 
filled  with  blacks  of  questionable  purity  and  unquestiona- 
ble odor,  or  to  climb  the  car-roofs,  and  take  our  chance  of 
holding  fast  thereon.  Good  air,  and  a  prospect  of  "  seeing 
the  country"  carried  the  day,  of  course ;  so  we  mounted 
the  car-roofs,  where  we  found,  much  to  our  satisfaction, 
that  some  freight,  in  the  shape  of  several  covered  cabrio- 
lets and  gigs,  had  preceded  us.  I  lost  no  time  in 
bestowing  myself  on  the  cushioned  seat  of  one  of  the^e 
vehicles,  and,  being  nicely  sheltered  by  its  silk-lined 
top,  came  quietly  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  an 
improved  mode  of  outside  transportation. 

At  Beaumont,  there  was  a  general  dispersion  of  our 
guards;  all  receiving  short  furloughs,  which  they  were 
to  improve  by  making  hasty  visits  to  their  homes.  In 
parting  from  some  of  these  kindly  foes,  I  gave  them  a 
few  tokens  of  remembrance ;  to  Handkomer  my  pocket- 
compass;  for  this  quiet  but  sterling  young  man  had 
acted  as  my  "  orderly"  more  than  my  guard,  on  the  march. 
Indeed,  I  acknowledged  good  offices  at  the  hands  of  all ; 
many  an  early  cup  of  coffee  tendered  to  me,  and  many  a 
cheering  word  or  entertaining  "yarn,"  that  whiled  the 
tedium  of  the  road.  Man  is  man,  the  world  over;  and 
these  Texans,  doubtless,  would  have  proved  loyal  Union 
men,  had  their  homes  been  north  instead  of  south  of  our 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  225 

Potomac  lines.  Even  Lieut.  Duncan,  who,  like  officers 
generally,  displayed  more  rebel  animus  than  the  privates 
do,  was  more  mistaken,  as  I  conceived,  than  criminal;  but 
the  glamour  of  state  pride  and  class  arrogance  prevented 
his  intelligence  from  comprehending  his  error.  I  left 
him  the  bugle-frontlet  of  my  cap,  as  a  trifling  mark  of 
my  appreciation  of  his  courtesy  toward  all  of  us ;  and  he 
seemed  gratified,  like  a  child,  with  the  gift ;  remarking 
that  it  was  the  first  present  he  had  ever  received  in  his 
life. 

Forty  miles  of  slow  steaming  brought  us  to  Liberty, 
a  small  town  on  the  railroad.  Here  we  saw  the  last  of 
our  guards — "  John  Weed" — starting  off  over  the  prairie, 
toward  his  "  ranch"  in  the  "  timber."  Lieut.  Duncan  was 
to  accompany  us  to  Houston.  Another  stage  of  travel 
brought  us  to  the  San  Jacinto;  where  we  discovered  that 
a  section  of  the  railroad  bridge  had  been  burned,  by 
accident,  on  the  previous  night,  and  was  impassible. 
Nothing  could  be  done  but  cross  the  passengers  on  foot, 
or  by  boats,  leaving  cars  and  baggage  to  await  repairs, 
which  were  progressing.  The  majority  of  "first-class" 
Texans  and  their  retinues  went  down  the  bank,  toward  a 
ferrying  place,  but  the  prisoners  mostly,  myself  among  the 
number,  essayed  to  pass  the  obstacle.  Never  do  I  desire 
to  attempt  another  such  a  feat.  The  bridge  w.-is  a  half- 
mile  in  length,  at  least,  without  planking,  and  the  cross- 
trees  were  so  far  apart  as  to  oblige  a  wide  step  over  each 
intervening  chasm.  Encumbered  with  my  heavy  knap- 
sack and  bundle  of  blankets,  weak  in  frame  and  giddy, 
and  certain  that  a  mis-step  must  precipitate  me  fifty  feet 
into  the  rocky  river-bed,  I  found  that  crossing  of  the 
Texan  Rubicon  almost  as  perilous  as  Santa  Anna  proved 
it.  It  cost  me  as  much  "  balancing"  as  did  my  memor- 
able passage  over  cypress-cones  in  the  swamp  of  Bayou 


226         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Tiger;  but,  at  length,  it  was  happily  over,  and  I  threw 
myself — exhausted  and  grateful — on  the  other  bank  of 
terra  firma. 

Near  this  bridge  is  the  old  battle-ground,  where  Sam 
Houston  and  his  little  army  defeated  their  Mexican 
invaders,  capturing  that  wooden-legged  hero  who  had  led 
them  across  the  entire  breadth  of  Texas,  from  the  Rio 
Grande,  to  get  himself  taken  prisoner  by  the  fugitives  whom 
he  was  chasing.  The  "league  of  land,"  on  which  Houston 
encamped,  was  owned  by  an  Irish  virago,  who,  deeming 
her  soil  trespassed  on,  sent  a  peremptory  order  to  the 
general,  to  "move  off;"  which,  it  is  said,  "Old  San  Ja- 
cinto"  declined  to  do,  till  he  had  whipped  the  Mexicans. 

Poor  Sam!  I  shall  learn  soon  whether  he  is  really,  as 
we  have  heard,  a  rebel,  like  the  rest  of  these  crazy 
southern  leaders.  I  cherish  my  own  doubts  still;  and 
would  have  almost  guaranteed  his  loyalty  at  the  begin- 
ning of  Secession.  Little,  indeed,  did  1  fancy,  on  re- 
ceiving a  last  friendly  letter  from  him,  just  before  the 
war,  that  I  should  so  soon  look  upon  the  field  of  San 
Jacinto,  and  under  such  circumstances  as  the  present 
were.  "If  ever  you  come  to  Texas,"  wrote  the  old  hero 
to  me — -"you  will  always  find  my  latch-string  out!"  But 
as  a  prisoner-of-war,  I  must  be  greeted  by  another  kind  of 
latch,  with  the  strmg  quite  out  of  my  reach,  I  apprehend. 

Leaving  our  baggage  with  the  impeded  train,  and  making 
"squatters"  of  ourselves  on  flat  cars,  drawn  by  another 
locomotive,  we  accomplished  the  remainder  of  our  jour- 
ney— twenty  miles — before  sunset.  Arrived  at  Houston, 
we  were  detained  at  the  railroad  depot  long  enough  to 
attract  the  notice  of  a  violent  old  woman,  who  denounced 
us  unsparingly.  "  Come  here,  you  little  dears !"  cried 
this  sad  termagant ;  addressing — not  us,  but — a  number 
of  little  children  who  were  gazing  timidly ;  "  come,  and 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  227 

8sxs  the  murderers  of  your  fathers  and  brothers !  . . . .  O ! 
if  i  only  had  the  hanging  of  ye ! ....  Don't  get  too  nigh 

the  sarpints,  children!     They'll  p'ison  ye  all! Come 

away !  they'll  be  hung  sartain  ! — 0 !  the  Yankee  murder- 
ers!" And,  with  her  rheumy  eyes  revolving,  and  her 
yellow  fangs  snapping,  the  wretched  beldame  backed 
away,  with  the  children,  while  we  shouldered  our  baggage 
and  followed  Lieut.  Duncan  across  a  bayou-bridge,  and 
up  the  main  street  of  Houston,  till  we  reached  a  block  of 
buildings  in  which  was  located  the  provost-marshal's 
office.  Here  we  were  left  standing  on  the  walk,  while 
our  custodian  reported  his  prisoners;  and  here  we  were 
speedily  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  inquisitive  Texans. 

A  bluff,  off-hand  sort  of  man  addressed  me  at  once, 
asking  about  our  capture,  and  informing  us  that  he  was 
Capt.  Conner,  of  the  Texan  navy,  who  had  taken  a  noted 
share  in  the  re-capture  of  Galveston  from  our  troops  some 
six  months  previously.  The  bold  captain  was  anxious  to 
show  hospitality,  and  proposed  to  treat  our  party  to 
refreshments  at  the  hotel  opposite ;  an  offer  which  we 
should  all  have  been  willing  to  accept;  but  when  per- 
mission was  asked  of  Lieut.  Duncan,  who  rejoined  us 
with  a  deputy-provost-marshal,  at  this  juncture,  we  were 
told  that  he  had  no  longer  disposition  of  us.  So,  with 
suppressed  anathemas  against  the  new  jack-in-office,  who 
gruffly  ordered  us  "forward!"  we  bade  "good-night"  to 
Captain  Conner,  and  shook  hands,  in  parting,  with  our 
pleasant  Texan  lieutenant. 

That  night,  for  the  first  time,  I  felt  the  consciousness 
of  jail-incarceration.  We  were  all  thrust  together  into  a 
ground-room  of  the  stone  court-house,  its  massy  door 
locked  upon  us,  while,  in  dingy  gloom,  we  endeavored  to 
dispose  our  blankets  on- the  rough  floor.  We  brushed  its 
thick  dirt  aside,  as  well  as  we  could,  bought  a  few  loaves 


228          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

of  bread  from  the  guard,  at  four  bits  apiece,  and,  wasfr- 
ing  .them  down  with  water,  accommodated  ourselves  to  re- 
pose. Next  morning  I  was  awakened  by  the  earliest 
sunbeams  striking  through  a  grated  casement.  Break- 
fast, of  bread,  meat,  and  rye  coffee,  was  brought  by  our 
guards,  and  we  were  gratified  with  the  assurance  of  being 
speedily  sent  to  a  camp  of  prisoners  in  the  interior. 

The  court-house  at  Houston  was  unfinished,  but  sub- 
stantially built  and  having  fine  interiors  ;  a  fact  I  learned, 
from  being  permitted  to  use  pen  and  paper  for  a  few  mo- 
ments in  the   supreme   court-room,  a  handsome   and  spa- 
cious  hall,    filled    with    cushioned    seats.      About   nine 
o'clock,   A.  M.,  we  were  marched  from  this  citadel,  to  a 
depot  of  the   "  Houston  and  Navasota  Railroad,"  where 
we  were  kept  waiting  in  the  street,  under  a  hot  morning 
sun,  for  an  hour  or  two.     It  appeared,  at  first,  as  if  we 
were  to  undergo  hard  usage  in  our  day's  travel;  a  filthy 
cattle-box   being   pointed   out   as    the    only  unoccupied 
means  of  transportation.     But,  fortunately   for   us,  the 
conductor  was  a  gentleman,  and  we  heard  his  clear  voice 
soon  ordering  up  an  "  extra  car  for  the  Federal  prison- 
ers."    An  extra  car,  accordingly,  was  furnished  us ;  for 
•which  we  were  grateful  to  a  considerate   Northern  man, 
and  a  former  lieutenant-governor  of  the  "  Old  Bay  State" 
herself;  now  transferred  into  an  official  of  this  Texas  rail- 
way, but,  1  doubt  not,  with  many  a  yearning  in  his  soul 
toward  the  soil  of  loyal  New  England.     Throughout  that 
day's  journey,  as  we  rode  in  comfortable  seats,  and  looked 
out,  unmolested,  upon  the  Texan  prairies,  we  exchanged 
many  pleasant  words  with  our  genial  conductor,  H.  W. 
Benchley,  of  Massachusetts. 

In  the  afternoon,  after  stoppages  at  several  roadside 
stations,  we  reached  "Camp  Groce,"  our  destination; 
having  left  at  Houston  one  of  our  number,  the  alleged 


I 

DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  229 

deserter,  Emerson.  Several  of  the  citizen-prisoners  had 
been  previously  left,  upon  the  Teche  ;  and  our  party,  on 
arriving  at  "  Camp  Groce,"  consisted  of  Col.  Nott  and 
myself,  Captain  Van  Tine,  Lieutenants  Sherman,  Hum- 
ble, Bassett  and  Wilson,  six  citizens,  Holiday,  Parse, 
Haley,  Knowlton,  Clark  and  Stratton,  and  the  wife  of 
the  latter. 

At  Camp  Groce,!  unexpectedly  met  old  acquaintances, 
in  Lieutenants  Hayes,  Dunn,  and  Curtiss,  officers  of  the 
175th  Regiment  of  New  York  Infantry,  who  had  been 
fellow-passengers  on  our  transport  from  Fortress  Monroe 
to  New  Orleans.  Lieut.  Hayes  busied  himself  at  once 
with  the  rites  of  hospitality,  providing  me  with  a  bunk, 
and  a  seat  at  his  mess-table.  The  other  new-comers 
were  likewise  soon  comfortably  cared  for,  and  we  speedily 
found  ourselves  "  at  home"  in  the  prison-barracks.  It 
was  Saturday  afternoon  ;  the  air  was  pleasantly  tem- 
pered ;  there  were  numberless  questions  to  be  asked  and 
answered ;  and,  after  refreshing  ourselves  with  an  ample 
meal,  we  sat  on  a  bench,  outside,  and  passed  a  couple  of 
hours  in  retailing  "  later  news."  Thereafter,  as  if  to 
recall  us  to  the  present  fact  of  captivity,  we  were  called 
upon  to  accompany  a  sad  procession  of  the  prisoners,  es- 
corting to  its  grave  the  body  of  a  lately-departed  sailor. 

We  were  introduced,  that  evening,  to  many  who  were 
to  be  henceforth  our  prison-comrades ;  and  who  had 
already  passed  weary  months  in  various  guard-houses 
and  prisons.  Here  were  officers  of  the  Harriet  Lane, 
captured  in  Galveston  harbor,  on  the  first  day  of  the 
year,  and  of  the  Massachusetts  Forty-Second  Infantry, 
their  partners  in  misfortune.  Here,  too,  were  officers  and 
sailors  of  the  Morning  Light,  blockading  ship,  taken  by 
rebels  at  Sabine  Pass,  in  January.  A  half-year  of  "  dur- 
ance vile1'  had  rendered  these  brave  men  accustomed, 


230  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

though  hardly  reconciled,  to  their  exile  from  home  and 
service.  Their  eagerness  to  learn  the  prospects  of  "  ex- 
change," gave  us  a  foreshadowing  of  prison-anxieties 
that  had  not  yet  definitely  weighed  upon  us. 

Col.  Burrell,  of  the  Massachusetts  regiment,  was  ex- 
pected daily  to  arrive  from  Huntsville,  where,  until 
lately,  most  of  these  Camp  Groce  prisoners  had  -been 
confined,  in  the  State  Penitentiary.  The  Colonel,  who  had 
remained  behind  under  an  attack  of  fever,  was  now  con- 
valescent, and  would  probably  join  us  during  the  next 
week.  As  the  story  of  his  capture  involves  that  of  a 
majority  of  our  Camp  Groce  officers,  1  will  devote  the 
ensuing  chapter  to  it. 


DEPAIiTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  231 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE   GALVESTON    SURRENDER. 

IN  reviewing  the  "index  expur gator ius"  of  historical 
chapters  relating  tp  South-western  operations  during 
1863,  that  mysterious  episode  which  inaugurated  the 
year  —  the  surrender  of  Galveston  —  must  not  be  for- 
gotten. Like  other  events  transpiring  after  the  recall 
of  General  Butler  from  New  Orleans,  our  loss  of  this 
key  city  of  the  Gulf  was  glossed  over  with  such  official 
nonchalance  as  to  completely  hoodwink  people  into  a  be- 
lief that  it  was  one  of  the  inevitable  casualties  of  warfare. 
Many  of  my  fellow  prisoners,  however,  involved  in  the 
catastrophe  of  this  Galveston  drama,  are  still  living  to 
relate,  as  they  did  to  me,  the  real  facts  pertaining  to  it. 

On  Christmas  day,  Col.  I.  S.  Burrell.  with  three  com- 
panies of  the  Massachusetts  Forty-second  Infantry,  finds 
himself  landed  on  the  wharf  at  Galveston.  Commodore 
Renshaw,  commanding  the  harbor,  assures  our  Bay  State 
Colonel  that  himself  and  his  small  force  are  protected  by 
gun-boats,  and  he  requests  him  to  quarter  his  men  in  a 
large  two-storied  warehouse,  under  cover  of  protecting 
fire,  in  case  the  enemy  should  attack.  What  is  this 
enemy  ?  Let  us  go  back.* 

Three  months  before,  an  expedition  had  left  New  Or- 
leans, the  flagship  Westfield  in  advance,  with  Captain 
Renshaw  in  command;  the  Clifton,  Sachem,  Harriet 
Lane,  Owasco,  and  some  others  following.  Arriving  at 
the  rebel  port  of  Galveston,  the  town  was  summoned  to 


232          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

surrender.  No  answer  being  returned,  beyond  a  single 
gun,  our  fleet  ranged  broadside-to,  before  the  city  front. 
A  flag  of  truce  arose ;  a  rebel  boat  appeared,  and  boarded 
Captain  Renshaw's  ship ;  and,  twenty  minutes  afterwards, 
our  sailors  heard  that  their  commodore  had  given  the 
town  authorities  four  days  of  grace.  All  that  day,  and 
during  following  ones,  Galveston  was  alive  with  business. 
Steam-whistles  shrieked,  wagons  rumbled,  cars  rattled 
over  the  long  bridge,  and  steam  and  sailing  craft  plied 
ceaselessly  upon  the  bay.  Meantime  Confederate  flags 
were  flying  gaily..  Truce  having  expired,  the  rebel  col- 
ors disappeared,  and  Commodore  Renshaw  landed  on 
Galveston  Inland.  The  town  had  been  deserted;  every 
article  of  value  carried  off,  comprising  guns  and  steam- 
engines  and  public  stores — whatever  could  be  serviceable 
to  treason.  With  pompous  ceremony,  then,  our  Commo- 
dore hoisted  the  Stars  and  Stripes  upon  the  Custom 
House,  and  hauled  them  down  some  thirty  minutes  after- 
wards. A  few  poor  Union  men,  who  remained  in  the 
city,  gave  three  cheers,  and  so  Galveston  fell  into  our 
hands,  after  its  rebel  population  had  been  suffered  to 
strip  everything  of  value  from  wharves  and  houses. 

Here,  now,  this  island  city  was  our  own.  Its  bay,  and 
sandy  shore,  and  web-work  of  lagoons,  that  interpenetrate 
the  coast,  on  either  side,  to  the  mouths  of  many  Texan 
rivers,  required  but  fortifications  to  become  a  point 
d'appui  for  inland  operations.  Where  bold  Lafitte  once 
built  a  stronghold,  darting  out  through  covert  channels 
from  his  island  ambuscade,  it  might  be  thought  our  well- 
appointed  fleet  could  easily  make  a  nucleus  for  future 
victories.  Houston  City  and  the  thriving  Brazos  Valley 
were  in  radii  of  fifty  miles,  and  all  the  coastwise  towns 
and  settlements  seemed  within  our  grasp. 

But  Commodore  Renshaw,  after  capturing  the  island, 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  233 

having  seized  a  wooden  gun,  propria  marte,  exhibited 
his  genius  furthermore  by  mounting  it  on  the  Westfield, 
and  then  sailed  in  pursuit  of  further  glory  to  the  bay  of 
Matagorda.  Anchoring  off  Indianola  he  ran  aground  ; 
coasting  southwardly,  and  coasting  back  again,  he  occu- 
pied ten  days  or  more  in  "armed  reconnoissance,"  mean- 
time exploiting  on  sand-bars  three  or  four  times  diur- 
nally,  so  that  a  jest  ran  round  his  fleet  that  "Renshaw 
kept  the  Clifton  as  a  tug  to  drag  the  Westfield  off  her 
soundings."  So  the  month  passed,  and  its  last  day  saw 
the  flagship  fire  some  four  or  five  score  shells  at  a  small 
mud  fort  near  Lavacca,  and,  in  doing  this,  burst  her  cost- 
liest rifle-gun.  Thus  ended  Renshaw's  naval  expedition 
from  Galveston. 

The  residue  of  hostile  execution  on  that  Texan  coast 
was  summed  up  daily,  in  gun-boat  logs,  by  entries  such 
as  "lying  on  and  off  the  bar  at  Galveston."  No  guns 
were  landed  for  shore  batteries;  no  earthworks  thrown 
up;  not  a  shot  fired  at  the  enemy's  fortified  camp,  which, 
filled  with  active  rebels,  strengthening  its  defences, 
seemed  to  laugh  at  us  beneath  its  still  defiant  flag.  A 
railroad  bridge  two  miles  in  length  connected  Galveston 
with  the  main  land,  and  afforded  ingress  from  the  rebel 
rendezvous  continually.  Hordes  of  enemies  were  swarm- 
ing in  from  interior  Texas.  Not  a  gun  was  trained  upon 
the  railroad  bridge ;  not  a  section  of  its  timbers  shot 
away.  The  town  was  left  to  be  a  daily  resort  of  our 
plotting  enemies,  while  boats  plied  every  hour  between 
the  shore  and  fleet,  and  rebel  spies,  disguised  as  wherry- 
men  and  farmers,  were  constantly  supplying  fish  and  fruit 
in  exchange  for  Yankee  greenbacks,  and  collecting  scraps 
of  information  to  subserve  Confederate  purposes.  On 
the  flagship  Westfield  all  was  gay  and  festive.  Rebel 
officers  came  off  to  dine  and  wine  at  Captain  Renshaw's 


234          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

invitation.  Convenient  flags  of  truce  were  ready  to  shel- 
ter everything,  whether  it  were  the  passage  of  rebel 
soldiers,  with  arms  and  ammunition,  to  their  camp  at 
Virginia  Point,  or  the  convoy  of  rebel  officers  to  Captain 
Kenshaw's  cabin,  for  a  jolly  carouse  at  his  mess  table. 
So  the  year  waned,  till  a  transport,  with  the  Massachu- 
setts troops,  arrived  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  Col.  Burrell 
next  day  landed  at  the  long  wharf  and  took  quarters  in  a 
wooden  storehouse. 

Here,  then,  Galveston  City  was  occupied  at  last.  Since 
October  3d — three  months  of  dolce  far  niente — a  fleet  of 
serviceable  war  vessels  had  gambolled  "  on  and  off  the 
bar,"  while  rebel  riflemen  and  cannoniers  were  making 
disposition  of  their  forces  in  full  view  and  unmolested. 
All  this  time  a  messenger-boat  could  bear  dispatches 
twice  a  week  between  the  island  and  New  Orleans ;  but 
not  till  Christmas  day  does  a  small  force  of  scarcely  a 
dozen  score  infantry  appear  upon  the  wharf  at  Galveston. 
More  troops  are  promised;  Col.  Burrell's  other  companies 
will  shortly  follow  their  commander  and  his  little  van- 
guard. Thus  is  this  "  nine  months'"  force  doled  out  by 
piecemeal  to  possess  Galveston. 

And  how  possess  it?  Shut  up  in  a  warehouse  on  the 
wharf;  four  gun-boats  lying  near ;  in  nightly  expectation 
of  surprise.  Three  companies  of  raw  troops,  staunch  and 
brave,  but  inexperienced,  are  kept  continually  on  duty  ; 
every  day  marched  through  the  city,  to  be  drilled  and 
exercised,  their  picket  lines  thrown  out  to  distant  squares 
by  day,  and  drawn  around  the  wharves  at  night;  some 
cautious  reconnoitering  indulged  in,  but  to  small  account, 
because  no  adequate  force  can  be  detached  beyond  the 
narrow  city  limits.  All  the  week,  reports  come  in,  of 
rebel  preparations  for  attack.  Three  companies  alternate 
in  guard  duty,  day  by  day.  Mounted  scouts  of  the  enemy 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  235 

are,  meanwhile,  scouring  the  inland  shores.  Cavalry 
squads  hover  in  view  of  the  town.  The  last  day  of  1862 
finds  all  the  Massachusetts  men  on  guard,  in  three  reliefs. 
These  poor  fellows,  harrassed  and  worn,  are  hoping  for 
the  arrival  of  their  comrades,  to  reinforce  the  post.  Cap- 
tain Wainwright,  of  the  Harriet  Lane,  comes  ashore,  and 
with  Colonel  Burrell  looks  out,  through  field-glass,  from 
a  cupola,  upon  the  rebel  camp  five  miles  away.  "I  will 
send  a  boat  up. from  the  Lane  to-morrow,  and  shell  those 
gentlemen!"  remarks  the  naval  captain.  Night  sets  in, 
and  Captain  Proctor,  with  Lieutenant  Newcomb  and  some 
sixteen  men,  dividing,  make  an  expedition  through  the 
city  streets,  to  look  for  rebel  cavalry  that  are  skulking 
thereabout.  They  meet  with  frightened  Union  people, 
who  assure  them  that  the  town  is  to  be  fired  that  night. 
The  mayor  of  Galveston  asks  permission  to  remove  his 
family  out  of  danger.  The  moon  now  rises  on  the  scene, 
clear  and  resplendent. 

Thus  matters  are  progressing  in  the  town  on  New 
Year's  Eve.  The  fleet  is  quiet  at  anchor.  The  Clifton 
lies  above  Galveston  wharves ;  the  Sachem,  and  a  little 
schooner  called  the  Corytheus,  just  below ;  the  Sachem 
undergoing  repairs.  The  Harriet  Lane  swings  close  to 
shore,  some  two  miles  lower  than  the  Clifton ;  and  tfye 
Owasco  anchors  by  a  coal -barge,  nearly  midway.  Cap- 
tain Renshaw,  in  his  flagship,  occupies  a  sand-bar  near 
the  point  called  Pelican's  Spit.  Our  flagship  is  aground, 
as  usual.  The  moon  rides  high  in  midnight  heavens,  her 
beams  flashing  on  that  quiet  bay,  on  the  fleet  at  anchor, 
on  our  soldiers  watchful  upon  the  wharf,  on  the  rebels 
gathering  at  Virginia  Point,  and  stealthily  advancing 
from  all  other  points. 

There  are  sharp  eyes  on  the  gunboats  as  well  as  on 
land;  and  at  two  o'clock  a  Clifton  look-out  passes  the 


236          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

word  that  a  couple  of  rebel  steamers  are  approaching  the 
channel  roads  above.  Their  dark  hulls  and  smoke  can 
be  seen  distinctly  in  the  moonlight.  The  Clifton  signals, 
"The  enemy  afloat!"  and  presently  is  answered  by  a 
summons  from  the  Westfield,  to  drop  down  to  Pelican's 
Spit,  and  tow  her  from  the  bar.  The  Clifton's  captain 
grumbles,  as  he  well  may.  This  channel,  crooked  as  a 
ram's  horn,  is  hard  to  navigate  even  by  day ;  and  now 
the  moon  is  sinking  to  her  setting.  But  at  three  o'clock 
the  Clifton  warps  a  cable-tow  alongside  of  our  grounded 
flag-ship,  and  about  the  same  time  the  moon  dips,  and 
rebel  guns  are  heard,  beginning  their  play  upon  Galveston 
city.  Captain  La\t  asks  leave  to  take  his  vessel  back, 
which  Eenshaw  grants,  but  will  not  let  his  pilot  go.  So 
the  Clifton  gropes  through  darkness,  trying  to  retrace 
her  channel  grounds  a  dozen  times  or  less,  and  does  not 
reach  Fort  Point,  two  miles  below  the  city,  till  broad 
daylight.  There  she  encounters  a  battery,  which  the 
rebels  have  erected  during  the  night.  She  shells  and 
drives  them  out  of  it  in  twenty  minutes'  time,  and  there- 
after steams  up  beyond  the  town-point,  shelling  as  she 
passes. 

Colonel  Burrell,  meanwhile,  when  the  moon  goes  down, 
begins  to  find  things  looking  dark  about  his  little  camp. 
The  gun -boat  signals  are  suspicious,  and  he  calls  his 
Massachusetts  officers  together,  for  a  council.  The  gun- 
boats Clifton  and  Owasco  are  three  miles  away,  the  Su- 
chern  cannot  help  them  much,  and  there  is  no  other  ves- 
sel, but  the  schooner  Corytheus,  nearer  than  the  Harriet 
Lane,  two  miles  above  them  Prudent  Colonel  Burrell 
gets  his  companies  in  readiness  to  make  their  own  de 
fence  as  best  they  may,  should  danger  threaten.  Pre- 
sently, Lieutenant  Newcomb  brings  report  of  a  rebel 
battery  erected  at  the  market-house.  The  gun-boats 


DEPARTMENT   OF  THE  GULP.  237 

ought  to  be  notified  of  this  ;  but  no  one  can  communicate 
with  them.  Suddenly,  at  half-past  three  o'clock,  the 
pickets  fire  their  guns,  and  fall  back  to  our  barricades. 

Those  barricades  of  planks,  some  twenty  inches  wide, 
lying  one  upon  another,  had  been  opportunely  piled  breast- 
high,  through  Colonel  Burrell's  forethought.  They  stood 
his  men  in  excellent  stead  on  New  Year's  morning. 

Now  began  to  ripen,  very  fast,  the  fruits  of  rebel  plot- 
ting under  guns  of  a  Federal  fleet  and  at  the  mess-tables 
of  a  Federal  officer.  Magruder's  time  had  not  been  wasted 
during  Renshaw's  farce  of  occupying  Galveston.  His 
forces  had  been  marched  through  the  deserted  city, 
night  after  night ;  piloted  across  that  railroad  bridge  so 
courteously  left  for 'their  accommodation  in  the  transit 
to  Virginia  Point.  His  heavy  siege-pieces  had  been 
transported  on  that  bridge  to  points  which  covered  all 
the  anchorage.  His  railroad  ram,  armed  with  an  8-inch 
Dahlgren  gun,  and  mounted  on  a  flat,  was  pushed  across 
that  bridge  upon  the  rails,  until  it  bore  directly  on  the 
Harriet  Lane.  His  cotton-bales,  for  breast-works,  were 
conveyed  by  the  same  track.  That  railway  bridge, 
which  half-a-dozen  Federal  shells  could  have  demolished 
at  any  hour,  became  a  rebel  highway  toward  the  re-cap- 
ture of  Galveston. 

When  the  moon  went  down,  on  New  Year's  morning, 
the  scheme  of  politic  Magruder  sprang  out  to  execution. 
While  our  fleet  lay  at  anchor,  its  flag-ship  hard  and  fast 
on  a  sand-bar  ;  while  Burrell's  handfull  of  infantry,  with 
pickets  compassing  some  two  or  three  squares,  were  hud- 
dled in  their  quarters  on  a  single  barricaded  wharf;  the 
rebels  had  already,  despite  of  all  Yankee  vigilance,  suc- 
ceeded, under  cover  of  night,  in  bringing  down  their 
heavy  guns  and  field-pieces  into  the  very  city  streets,  as 
well  as  to  commanding  points  above,  below,  and  on  a 


238         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

water-base  of  two  miles  and  a  half.  This  was  our  "  cap- 
ture'* of  Galveston;  which  permitted  rebel  armies  to  col- 
lect under  Federal  guns,  while  their  officers  dined  at  flag- 
ship tables,  and  the  bitter  sneer  was  common  among  our 
sailors  that  "  Magruder  knows  better  than  Renshaw  the 
number  of  men  and  guns  we  have  !"  This  was  our  "  oc- 
cupation" of  the  Key  City,  which  held,  during  Christmas 
week,  a  wharf  four  hundred  feet  in  length,  while  all  the 
streets,  and  squares,  and  wharves,  behind,  to  the  right 
and  left,  were  undefended,  and  left  to  become,  at  last,  a 
deadly  ambuscade  of  rebel  rifles  and  artillery. 

So,  when  the  fight  began,  under  grey  obscurity  of  star- 
light, Magruder  had  six  companies  of  dismounted  dra- 
goons, under  Pyron,  lying  in  wait  -with  rifles,  while  a 
regiment  of  artillery  with  field-pieces  took  position  on 
their  flank  at  Fort  Point.  Further  up,  toward  the  city, 
and  within  its  limits,  other  batteries  were  posted  on  the 
wharves.  Six  field-guns  occupied  the  Centre  Wharf;  the 
railroad  ram  was  placed  upon  the  Upper  Wharf;  a  bat- 
tery was  planted  right  in  front  of  the  barricaded  wharf 
that  sheltered  Burrell  and  his  men.  This  battery  was  to 
cover  an  attempt  to  storm  the  barricade  ;  a  project  in- 
trusted to  five  hundred  rebels,  commanded  by  artillery 
Captain  Cook. 

These  dispositions  had  been  made  since  sunset  of  the 
previous  day ;  so  well  concocted  were  the  rebel  plans,  so 
actively  the  fellows  worked,  inspired  by  earnest  treason. 
Af  half-past  three  o'clock,  the  centre  gun  was  fired,  as  a 
signal,  by  Magruder.  Rebel  pieces  then  began  to  blaze 
along  the  water  front.  A  simultaneous  shower  of  rifle- 
shots was  poured  upon  the  barricaded  wharf  and  at  the 
warehouse  used  as  quarters  for  our  infantry. 

Well  was  it  for  Colonel  Burrell  and  his  men  that  he 
had  formed  their  line  upon  the  wharf  so  promptly.  Fire 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  239 

was  directed  against  the  warehouse  incessantly.  The 
rebels  believed  that  all  our  force  was  under  cover  of 
that  building,  and  they  riddled  its  walls  and  casements. 
When  the  fray  was  over,  there^  could  not  be  found  a  spot 
of  two  feet  square  which  was  not  perforated  with  bullet 
holes. 

But  the  Bay  State  boys,  under  their  gallant  officers, 
were  safe  behind  the  barricade  planks.  After  Lieut. 
Stowell  had  burned  certain  signals,  as  agreed  upon  with 
Captain  Wainright,  to  indicate  that  rebels  held  the  town, 
the  colonel  ordered  all  to  lie  down  on  the  wharf.  Our 
vessels  now  responded  to  the  rebel  fire.  The  gun-boat 
Sachem  and  the  Harriet  Lane  delivered  shot  upon  the 
town,  but  fired  too  high,  their  missiles  crashing  through 
the  roofs  of  buildings.  A  tempest  of  balls  and  bullets 
now  came  dashing  over  the  wharf,  and  presently  the  rebel 
storming  party  hove  in  sight,  wading  through  water  to 
assault  our  barricade.  They  carried  scaling  ladders,  and 
advanced  in  dark  masses  ;  their  sharp-shooters  deployed 
to  the  right  and  left.  Colonel  Burrell  ordered  bayonets 
to  be  fixed  in  preparation  for  a  charge.  His  men  stood 
up  with  pieces  at  a  ready.  They  peered  into  the  gloom, 
but  could  perceive  only  a  waving  shadow  on  the  water. 
At  that  shadow  fhey  hurled  a  bright  blaze,  sending  volley 
after  volley  from  their  muskets,  fast  as  they  might  load 
and  fire.  The  rebels  could  not  stand  that  leaden  hail, 
but  broke  for  cover  of  the  neighboring  buildings. 

At  this  point  of  the  conflict  our  enemies  were  repulsed 
everywhere.  While  Burrell  drove  them  from  before  his 
barricade,  the  Clifton  and  Owasco  had  been  silencing  the 
lower  batteries.  Fort  Point  was  evacuated,  and  the  can- 
non on  the  different  wharves  were  dragged  off  at  a  gallop 
under  charge  of  General  Scurry.  Galveston  become  too 
hot  for  rebel  quarters. 


240          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Here  it  was  that  Leon  Smith,  "quartermaster-admiral," 
came  steaming  down  the  harbor  with  his  brace  of  cotton- 
boats,  the  Neptune  and  Bayou  City.  Heading  for  the 
Harriet  Lane,  they  ran  into  her  on  either  side,  and 
poured  a  murderous  fire  upon  her  decks.  Four  hundred 
rifles  and  three  hundred  double-barreled  shot-guns  swept 
the  vessel's  deck  from  stem  to  stern  As  Wainwright 
could  not  promptly  cut  his  chains,  he  fought  the  ship  at 
anchor  like  a  hero.  Such  guns  as  might  be  brought  to 
bear  upon  his  foes  did  instant  execution.  The  Neptune 
was  quickly  sunk,  and  the  Lane's  bows  were  turned  upon 
the  other  boat,  carrying  away  its  larboard  wheel-house  by 
the  shock.  But  overwhelming  numbers,  pouring  un- 
broken sheets  of  musket  flame  upon  the  Federal  vessel, 
from  behind  a  cover  of  cotton  bales,  were  not  to  be  with- 
stood. Gunners  fell  at  every  piece  on  board  the  Lane. 
Bold  Wainwright,  foremost  of  her  staunch  defenders, 
sank  beneath  a  rifle  shot.  His  first  lieutenant,  Lea,  was 
killed  beside  him.  Then  the  rebels  swarmed  over  their 
cotton-clad  batteries,  and  our  men,  unable  to  make  fur- 
ther head,  surrendered. 

It  was  a  crisis  of  the  battle.  At  every  other  point  the 
rebels  had  been  beaten.  Even  here,  with  Wainwright 
dead,  and  his  fine  vessel  taken,  it  needed  but  a  dash  of 
our  remaining  gun-boats  to  have  saved  the  Harriet  Lane 
and  gained  a  victory.  His  Neptune  sunk,  his  Bayou 
City  grounded,  Leon  Smith  was  master  of  the  Harriet 
Lane,  but  he  was  still  at  the  mercy  of  her  consorts.  Had 
the  Clifton  then  attacked  him  he  must  have  been  lost. 
The  Owasco  did  indeed  salute  him  with  a  passing  broad- 
side, but  beyond  this,  no  attempt  was  made  against  the 
rebel  commodore. 

It  was  not  strange  now  that  Magruder,  foiled  at  every 
other  point,  withdrawing  from  the  town  front,  and  re- 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  241 

treating  under  fire  of  our  brave  infantry,  should  hail  the 
lucky  stroke  of  Leon  Smith  as  his  salvation.  Broad  day- 
light now  revealed  the  state  of  everything,  and  rebel 
strategy  succeeded  rebel  ambuscades.  White  flags  were 
run  up  on  the  Harriet  Lane,  and  Smith  dispatched  two 
officers  to  Renshaw's  stranded  flag-ship,  demanding"  a 
surrender  of  the  fleet,  and  giving  three  hours'  time  to 
treat  upon  the  proposition.  The  boat  conveying  this  in- 
sulting message  visited  our  other  gun-boats  likewise  ;  and 
an  interchange  of  visits,  under  flags  of  truce,  consumed 
an  hour  or  two  ;  while  half  the  time  a  fire  of  sharp-shoot- 
ers was  kept  up  on  the  barricaded  wharf,  which  Burrell 
valiantly  defended  till  he  saw  himself  abandoned  by  the 
fleet,  when  he  displayed  a  white  flag  also,  and  gave  up 
resistance. 

So  the  battle  of  G-alveston  was  tricked  away — "  won 
half  by  blunder,  half  by  treachery ;"  while  that  fool  or 
knave,  flag-officer  Renshaw,  fired  not  a  single  long-range 
gun,  allowed  not  one  of  his  eager  men  to  volunteer  on 
board  another  ship,  and  ended  by  capitulation  as  dis- 
graceful as  it  was  entirely  needless.  The  Clifton  and 
Owasco,  at  a  word  from  Renshaw's  lips,  might  have  cut 
out  the  Harriet  Lane,  with  Smith  and  all  his  horse-ma- 
rines. Instead  of  being  permitted  to  do  this,  our  gun- 
boats, with  their  gallant  crews,  who  muttered  curses 
neither  few  nor  choice,  were  ordered  from  the  port,  and, 
as  a  noble  tar  expressed  it,  in  my  hearing,  "  sneaked  away 
with  white  rags  flying."  But  the  retributive  hand  of 
justice  reached  the  wretched  Renshaw  ere  his  shame  was 
fully  consummated.  He  had  given  his  men  free  access 
to  the  liquor-room,  and  then  set  fire  to  the  Westfield,  in- 
tending to  escape  in  a  boat  which  lay  alongside,  with 
Lieutenant  Zimmerman  and  several  sailors,  ready  to  cast 
off.  Whether  the  boat  delayed  till  it  could  hail  the 


242          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Clifton  as  she  passed,  or  whether  it  was  kept  to  take  the 
recreant  commodore  ashore,  can  never  be  known.  But 
as  our  other  vessels,  in  retreating,  steamed  just  abreast 
of  their  late  flag-ship,  she  blew  up,  and  Renshaw  perished 
with  her.  He  was  not  permitted  to  survive  the  sequel  of 
his  cowardice  or  treason. 

Thus  we  lost  Galveston — thus  we  lost  noble  Wain- 
wright  and  the  brave  young  Lea,  whose  rebel  father  was 
a  major  on  Magruder's  staff  that  day,  and  came  on  board 
the  Harriet  Lane  in  time  to  kiss  his  dying  son.  Thus 
Burrell  and  his  officers  were  consigned  to  nineteen 
months'  captivity  in  dungeons  and  corrals.  And,  above 
all,  thus  the  entire  Texan  coast  was  lost,  the  rebel 
cause  inspired  and  strengthened,  and  a  rebel  army  or- 
ganized at  once  from  crowds  of  volunteers.  Thus  old 
Tom  Green,  Sibley,  Pyron,  Scurry,  Majors,  Leon  Smith, 
Magruder,  Baylor,  and  a  dozen  other  leaders,  were  en- 
abled to  inflate  the  Texan  mind  with  overweening  pride 
of  state  and  personal  superiority.  The  gate  of  the  Con- 
federacy was  thus  left  open,  as  it  had  been  during  the 
war,  for  food  and  clothing,  arms  and  men,  to  pour  from 
Mexican  borders,  over  Texan  highways,  and  through  Lou- 
isiana rivers,  to  the  Mississippi  banks,  and  thence  upon 
our  loyal  frontiers.  Weak  and  disastrous  as  our  subse- 
quent campaigns  against  the  Texans  have  turned  out  to 
be,  their  miserable  results  may  be  traced  back  to  that 
unhappy  New  Year's  day  of  1863,  when,  in  the  language 
of  a  gun-boat  officer,  took  place  "  the  most  disgraceful 
and  cowardly  action  upon  record." 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  243 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

SABINE   PASS. 

OUR  quarters  at  Camp  Groce  were  upon  the  railroad 
line,  removed  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the  ro.ad. 
The  "camp"  consisted  of  four  stacks  of  barracks  looking 
from  three  sides  into  a  rhomboidal  area.  Beyond  these 
buildings,  a  tract  of  wild  country,  wood,  swamp,  and 
prairie,  stretched  for  miles  around.  The  barracks  were 
built  upon  grounds  a  little  higher  than  the  railroad  grade, 
and,  behind  the  particular  stack  of  sheds  appropriated  to 
prisoners,  a  slope,  covered  with  shrubbery  and  stunted 
trees,  conducted  to  the  timber-belt  which  formed  a  boun- 
dary for  our  rear.  Another  line  of  barracks  running 
nearly  parallel  to  ours,  at  a  distance  of  one  hundred 
yards  or  more,  was  occupied  by  the  guard,  a  company  of 
sixty  or  eighty  militiamen,  under  command  of  a  fat  officer 
known  as  Captain  Buster.  Two  deep  wells  supplied  the 
post  with  water,  which  the  prisoners  brought  for  their 
own  use  from  one  of  them,  over  a  space  of  from  six  to  ten 
rods,  according  to  the  locality  of  their  quarters  in  the  bar- 
racks. 

One  end,  comprising  less  than  a  third  of  the  barracks, 
was  apportioned  to  the  officers,  and  the  remaining  sheds, 
divided  by  three  partitions,  to  enlisted  men  of  army  and 
navy.  A  large  number  of  the  sailors  were  men  captured 
at  Sabine  Pass,  on  the  21st  of  January,  who  had,  since 
then,  shared  the  fortunes  of  their  commander,  Captain 
Dillingham,  and  the  Federal  officers  previously  taken  at 
Galveston. 


244          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Captain  John  Dillingham,  in  command  of  the  sloop-of- 
war  "Morning  Light,"  had  been  ordered  to  Sabine  Pass 
in  November,  1862.  He  had  then  with  him  two  schooners, 
the  Rachel  Seaman  and  Velocity,  and  an  old  steam- scow 
called  the  Dan.  The  latter,  being  unserviceable,  was 
soon  after  sunk  and  abandoned.  While  cruising  at  the 
Sabine  mouth,  Capt.  Dillingham  received  several  parties 
of  refugees,  whom  he  subsequently  sent  to  New  Orleans 
on  board  the  gun-boat  Owasco;  by  which  vessel  he  first 
obtained  news  of  the  re-capture  of  Galveston  by  the  re- 
bels. About  this  time,  he  gained  intelligence  through 
Union  men  on  shore,  that  an  expedition  was  in  prepara- 
tion, with  the  design  of  seizing  his  own  ship,  the  "Morn- 
ing Light."  On  learning  this,  he  at  once  dispatched  the 
Velocity  to  Commodore  Bell,  his  flag-officer,  informing 
him  of  the  fact,  and  asking  for  the  assistance  of  a  gun- 
boat. To  this  statement,  a  reply  came  from  Com.  Bell, 
directing  the  maintenance  of  a  strict  blockade  at  the 
Pass,  and  ordering  the  "Rachel  Seaman"  to  Pensacola, 
for  repairs.  Complying  with  these  instructions,  Captain 
Dillingham  remained  at  his  post  near  the  Sabine  channels. 

In  the  meantime,  the  rebels  under  Magruder,  flushed 
with  the  success  of  their  attack  on  our  vessels  at  Gal- 
veston, were  making  new  dispositions  for  another  exploit. 
Major  Watkins,  Assistant  Adjutant  General,  was  assigned 
to  the  command  of  "  all  the  land  and  naval  forces  opera- 
ting on  the  Sabine  River/'  and  proceeded  to  improvise 
materials  for  an  expedition.  Two  river-boats,  the  Ben 
and  the  Bell,  were  converted  into  gun-boats,  by  providing 
two  12-pounders,  with  some  grape  shot,  for  the  former, 
and  an  8-inch  Columbiad,  bored  as  a  6-inch  rifled  piece, 
for  the  latter.  Infantry,  with  rifles  and  shot-guns,  were 
supplied  to  each  of  these  terriffic  war-vessels,  and,  thus 
equipped  and  manned,  and  panoplied  with  cotton-bales, 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  245 

they  steamed  through  Sabine  Lake,  and  down  toward  the 
Pass,  where  Captain  Dillingham  lay  quiescent,  with  his 
ship  of  one  thousand  tons,  on  a  sea  as  calm  and  glassy  as 
the  breezeless  air  might  slumber  on. 

On  the  20th  of  January,  our  Yankee  captain  descried 
his  cotton-clad  adversaries  coming  down  the  Lake,  and 
not  feeling  inclined  to  await  them,  got  under  weigh  and 
dropped  out  with  the  current.  At  daylight  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  he  found  himself  pursued.  The  Texan  ar- 
gonauts, assured  by  their  easy  victory  at  Galveston,  that 
Federal  fleets  were  not  "invincible  armadas,"  bore  down 
upon  our  "Morning  Light"  with  a  directness  that  mani- 
festly meant  mischief.  Captain  Dillingham  bewailed  the 
calm.  His  ship  could  be  mano3uvred  only  sluggishly,  at 
best,  while  the  steam-engines  of  the  rebels  enabled  them 
to  choose  positions.  The  enemy  opened  with  his  rifled 
gun  when  about  two  miles  and  a  half  distant  from  our 
ship,  which  returned  the  fire  with  a  broadside. 

The  battle  now  began,  and  continued  during  an  hour 
and  a  half,  the  rebel  steamers  gradually  nearing  our  ves- 
sels. A  rifled  howitzer  on  the  ship's  poop  deck  exploded 
at  the  first  discharge.  The  rebel  craft,  presenting  their 
cotton-armored  bows  to  Yankee  missiles,  offered  but  a 
narrow  target,  .whilst  their  pieces,  though  handled  awk- 
wardly enough,  were  enabled  to  get  a  more  effectual 
range  as  they  approached.  Our  metal,  though  heavier, 
failed  to  keep  them  at  a  distance;  and  at  length,  arrived 
within  one  thousand  yards,  they  poured  a  hail  of  musketry 
upon  the  decks  of  ship  and  schooner,  which  speedily 
cleared  them  of  defenders.  According  to  rebel  accounts, 
the  engagement  was  "concluded  out  of  sight  of  land  in  the 
Gulf,  and  about  twenty-eight  miles  southwest  from  Sabine 
Bar."  The  steamers  ranged  upon  both  sides  to  board  our 
frigate ;  and,  thinking  to  destroy  one,  at  least,  Captain 


246  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Dillingham  veered  ship,  and  discharged  a  broadside,  at 
musket-range,  with  no  more  execution  than  if  it  had 
struck  the  iron  ribs  of  a  monitor.  The  other  rebel  boat 
then  rounded,  and  began  a  murderous  fire ;  when,  deem- 
ing further  resistance  useless,  Captain  Dillingham  ceased 
fighting,  and  surrendered. 

It  was  a  gallant  prize  for  the  rebel  cotton-boats ;  though 
they  were  obliged  subsequently  to  abandon  and  burn  the 
ship,  from  inability  to  get  her  over  the  bar.  The  Morning 
Light  had  been  formerly  a  clipper  in  the  merchant  ser- 
vice. She  mounted,  when  captured,  eight  long  thirty- 
twos,  and  a  rifled  Butler  gun,  and  her  consort,  the 
schooner  Velocity,  carried  two  brass  12-pound  howitzers, 
with  boat  and  land  carriages.  About  If  0  stand  of  small 
arms,  and  109  prisoners,  were  taken  with  the  vessels. 
Such  was  the  battle  of  Sabine  Pass,  in  which  Captain 
Dillingham  lost  ship  and  liberty.  How  much  of  his  dis- 
aster is  due  to  the  neglect  which  left  a  wooden  ship  to  be 
surprised,  during  a  calm,  by  cotton-clad  steam-boats,  must 
remain,  with  other  secrets,  in  possession  of  Commodore 
Bell  and  the  Navy  Department.  The  exploit,  however, 
raised  Texan  pride  and  ambition  to  fever-heat,  and  the 
Confederate  President  at  Richmond  addressed  a  letter 
of  laudation  to  General  Magruder  for  his  "noble  enter- 
prises" against  the  Yankees;  whereat  the  classic  Ma- 
gruder made  proclamation  to  the  "army  of  Sabine,"  as- 
serting his  belief  that  it  was  destined  "to  astonish  still 
more  their  enemies  and  the  world,  by  such  evidences  of 
skill  and  audacity,  as  shall  make  Texan  a  better  word 
than  Spartan." 

The  "Morning  Light"  officers  and  men,  were  speedily 
transferred  from  the  scene  of  their  capture  to  a  prison,  at 
Houston,  where  our  Federals,  taken  at  Galveston,  were 
still  lingering.  Eleven  wounded,  two  killed,  and  twenty 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  247 

slightly  hurt,  comprised  the  casualties  of  this  Sabine  fight, 
on  this  ourside ;  while  the  rebels  boasted  that  they  lost  not 
a  single  man. 

At  Houston,  the  G-alveston  prisoners  had  "not  been 
rigorously  treated.  Our  officers  enjoyed  parole  and 
liberty  to  walk  the  streets.  The  Federal  loss  in  battle 
at  Galveston  comprised  seventeen  killed  and  wounded  of 
the  infantry,  and  sixteen  of  our  naval  force.  The  earlier 
days  of  captivity  were  marked  by  sundry  courtesies  from 
citizens,  and  our  Yankee  officers  "fared  sumptuously"  on 
roast-pig,  turkey,  and  occasional  invitations  to  outside 
dinners.  In  a  short  time,  however,  the  lines  were  drawn 
more  tightly,  and  a  consolatary  leader,  in  the  Houston 
daily  journal,  suggested  the  amiable  experiment  of  hang- 
ing Yankee  prisoners. 

Houston,  at  that  happy  epoch,  was  a  jubilant  city. 
Magruder  had  made  &  triumphal  entry,  and  been  honored 
with  a  public  reception  ;  on  which  extraordinary  occasion 
a  sword  was  presented  to  the  hero,  and  a  procession 
moved,  consisting  of  about  twenty-five  horse-marines,  on 
ponies,  and  seventy-five  rangers,  carrying  shot-guns  in 
every  position.  Pending  this  ceremony,  our  Federals 
were  ordered  into  close  confinement,  which  was  soon 
shared  by  their  newly-captured  comrades  from  Sabine 
Pass.  About  this  time,  they  received  a  definite  account 
of  the  blowing  up  of  the  Westfield  and  asserted  death  of 
Commodore  Kenshaw.  Kumors  likewise  reached  them 
that  our  Federal  troops  in  Arkansas  had  captured  sev- 
eral thousand  Texans  at  Arkansas  Post,  and  thai  our 
army  had  suffered  defeat  at  Murfreesboro,  with  a  loss  of 
10,000  captured  and  a  like  number  killed  and  wounded. 
About  the  close  of  January,  Sailing-Master  W.  F.  Mon- 
roe, of  the  "Harriet  Lane,"  who  had  been  shot  in  the 
face,  after  surrender,  at  Galveston,  died,  from  lack  of 


248          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

proper  care  and  treatment.  He  was  buried  with  military 
honors  ;  eight  officers  being  permitted  to  attend  the  fu- 
neral, and  a  rebel  escort  of  sixteen  firing  a  volley  over  his 
grave. 

At  Houston,  our  officers  were  visited  by  a  noted  rebel, 
Captain  Chubb,  of  Galveston,  who  was  recognized  by  a 
Massachusetts  captain  as  a  man  who  broke  jail  at  East 
Cambridge,  in  1837.  About  this  time,  the  Federals  were 
notified  of  Jeff.  Davis's  proclamation  against  Butler's 
officers,  and  it  was  intimated  that  several  gentlemen  would 
probably  be  handed  over  to  the  civil  power  for  trial  and 
punishment.  But,  though  these  and  other  unrefreshing 
scraps  of  news  were  doled  out  to  them,  our  officers  en- 
joyed occasional  gulps  of  air  and  smacks  of  liberty  (under 
guard)  in  tours  of  exercise  and  ball-sport,  which  were 
vouchsafed  them. 

Most  of  the  Forty-Second  Massachusetts  regiment's 
rank  and  file  received  parole,  and  were  forwarded  soon 
to  13aton  Rouge  Their  officers,  however,  with  many 
sailors,  remained  in  prison  at  Houston,  till  the  last  of 
April.  During  their  sojourn,  General  Houston  visited 
the  city,  and  achieved  a  speech  to  the  assembled  popu- 
lace; and  an  Indian  delegation  from  the  Plains,  all  plumed 
and  war-painted,  held  powows  in  the  public  square.  At 
last  a  long-expected  order  came  to  march  our  Yankees  to 
the  Penitentiary  at  Huntsville ;  and,  after  being  relieved 
of  their  watches,  money,  and  such  valuables,  they  were 
transferred  on  the  Navasota  Railroad,  to  their  new  and 
narrow  State  Prison  quarters. 

Our  Federal  officers  protested ;  dispatching  Dr.  Cum- 
mings,  of  the  "  Forty-Second,"  (who,  being  a  surgeon, 
enjoyed  parole,)  to  General  Scurry,  praying  redress- 
Meantime,  for  a  day  or  two,  they  learned  to  relish  cold 
corn-bread  and  water.  But  the  Penitentiary  Superin- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  249 

tendent  was  an  old  Sam  Houston  man.  and,  moreover,  a 
gentleman.  He  ordered  hot  meals  to  be  prepared  for  our 
officers  in  his  own  house,  gave  them  the  privilege  of  ex- 
ercise in  the  yard  from  eight  o'clock  A.  M.,  to  noon,  and 
from  one  to  five  P.  M. ;  and  otherwise  sought  to  lighten 
their  annoyances. 

In  this  Penitentiary  168  convicts  were  confined  at 
labor.  The  first  Sabbath  saw  bur  prisoners  marched  to 
chapel  at  eight  o'clock,  A.  M.,  to  attend  service,  with  these 
convicts.  On  week-days  the  latter  were  called  to  work 
at  five  o'clock  A.  M.,  and  relieved  at  six,  in  the  evening. 

The  cells  of  this  State-prison  were  not  inviting  dormi- 
tories, being  overrun  with  cockroaches,  and  overbrooded 
by  musquitos  Their  dimensions  comprised  eight  feet  by 
five.  The  yard  in  which  our  prisoners  were  allowed  to 
pass  the  day,  was  two  hundred  feet  square. 

Various  local  entertainments  assisted  the  time  to  pass. 
On  one  day,  a  convict  would  be  placed  in  the  stocks  ; 
another  morning  ushered  in  some  negro,  accused  of  at- 
tempting to  kill  his  owner,  while  the  latter  was  flogging 
him.  Once,  General  Houston  came — (he  resided  near 
the  Penitentiary) — and  talked  "  secesh"  to  our  officers. 

But  Col.  Caruthers,  the  Superintendent,  did  not  keep 
our  Federals  in  convict  quarters  very  long.  He  fitted  up 
a  large  upper  room,  eighteen  by  twenty-five  feet  in  floor 
area,  with  cots  and  mattresses,  and  gave  our  officers  pos- 
session of  it. 

About  the  close  of  May,  after  encountering  centipedes 
in  their  quarters,  hearing  news  of  General  Hooker's  de- 
feat, with  a  loss  of  30,000  Federals,  and  receiving  a  part- 
ing visit  from  General  Houston,  who  was  about  going,  for 
his  health,  to  Sour  Lake  ;  a  message  arrived  from  Gov- 
ernor Lubbock,  the  Texan  executive,  expressing  fears 
that  the  presence  of  our  Yankees  at  Huntsville  might 


250  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

attract  a  Federal  expedition  againt  that  important  place. 
The  brave  Governor  said  the  Yankees  must  be  removed. 
The  manufacture  of  5,000  yards  of  cotton-cloth  per  diem, 
with  sundry  other  items  of  Texan  fabrication  by  Peni- 
tentiary machinery,  must  not  be  jeopardized  through 
Yankee  Jonahs.  So,  presently  it  transpired  toward 
the  end  of  June,  that  our  prisoners  were  led  out  of 
Hunts ville  prison,  and  thence  deported  to  Camp  Groce, 
on  the  Navasota  Railroad.  More  rumors,  through  rebel 
sources,  accompanied  their  march  ;  that  Grant's  army  had 
been  wofully  routed  in  front  of  Vicksburg ;  that  Banks 
had  been  driven  from  Port  Hudson,  with  a  loss  of  7,000 
men  and  three  gun-boats ;  and  that  "  exchange  of  prison- 
ers" was  totally  stopped  for  the  future. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  251 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

CAMP    GROCE. 

SHORTLY  after  my  arrival  in  Texas,  I  learned  of  the 
death  of  General  Houston.  He  had  passed  from  the 
scene  of  his  triumphs  and  trials — his  labors  and  strifes. 
It  is  yet  a  mooted  point  whether  the  old  hero  ever  com- 
mitted himself  fully  to  the  rebel  cause.  Certain  it  is, 
the  ultra  Secessionists  never  trusted  him,  while  men  <?f 
Union  proclivities  stoutly  maintained  that  "Sam  was  only 
'playing  possum,'  till  a  change  come."  In  truth,  Houston 
was  a  diplomatist,  and  his  strategy  had  been  learned  in 
the  lodges  of  red  men.  He  was  an  "Indian  fighter"  in 
politics,  and  his  personal  nature  had  many  aboriginal 
traits.  1  can  understand  very  well  that  he  might  have 
appeared  to  favor  the  dominant  feeling  in  Texas,  with  a 
latent  design  of  recovering  ground  for  a  dormant  Union 
sentiment.  He  held  out  nobly  against  the  first  billows 
of  disloyalty,  and  it  was  not  till  the  increasing  tide  had 
swept  the  gubenatorial  chair  from  under  him,  and  he  saw 
himself  about  to  be  submerged  and  drowned  by  the  fierce 
waters  of  rebellion,  that  we  find  "(Md  San  Jacinto"  ap- 
parently bowing  before  the  storm,  and  content  to  abide 
its  devastations.  It  was  full  time  for  Houston  to  com- 
promise; for 'no  man  had  more  bitter  enemies  than  he; 
and  one  more  crime,  though  it  involved  the  life  of  him 
who  bad  been  the  saviour  of  their  state,  would  have  been 
a  trifle  to  the  traitors  who  usurped  authority  in  Texas. 
Houston  wisely  stood  aside.  He  had  been  wiser,  per- 
haps, had  he  remained  wholly  reticent  upon  the  question 


252          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

at  issue;  but  it  is  difficult  to  comprehend  his  entire 
position.  His  household  and  many  old  friends  were 
divided  against  him.  He  saw  himself  overthrown  by 
triumphant  rivals,  and  beset  constantly  by  their  secret 
plots.  Already,  too,  it  seemed  that  Southern  Inde- 
pendence was  un  fait  accompli.  Reconstruction  of  the 
Union  appeared  impossible.  What  was  the  old  Indian 
fighter  to  do  ?  He  must  either  become  a  traitor  to  the 
Federal  Union,  or  permit  himself  to  be  deemed  one. 
There  are  many  stanch  Union-men  in  Texas  who  main- 
tain that  "  Old  Sam"  only  feigned  disloyalty,  and  I  would 
rather  believe  their  impressions  to  be  correct  than  to 
denounce  Houston  as  a  sympathizer  with  Secession. 

Doubtless,  as  identified  with  Texan  history,  Houston 
shared  largely  in  State  pride.  Perhaps  he  might  have 
halted  between  loyalty  and  treason,  and,  accepting  Texan 
independence  as  his  compromise,  cast  off,  at  once,  from 
North  and  South.  The  "Lone  Flag"  would  have  been 
his  stand-point,  yet,  who  knows  but  that,  behind  it,  he 
might  have  still  kept  folded  the  "  old  flag"  of  our  nation, 
to  be  run  up  to  the  staff-head  whenever  a  breeze  should 
blow  favorably. 

Houston's  old  foes  were  active  and  wily,  even  after  his 
retirement  from  public  life.  Two  of  these,  whose  names 
I  do  not  now  recall,  prepared  a  scheme  which  they 
thought  might  entrap  the  old  chief.  It  was  when  one  of 
the  first  rebel  regiments  had  been  raised,  and  a  stand  of 
colors  was  to  be  presented  to  it.  The  two  plotters  pro- 
cured an  invitation  to  be  sent  to  General  Houston,  to 
make  "  a  speech  to  the  soldiers."  They  anticipated  a 
refusal,  and  hoped  to  make  this  a  pretext  for  denouncing 
Sam  as  a  "Union  sympathizer."  But  to  their  astonish- 
*ment,  the  invitation  was  promptly  accepted.  Houston 
promised  to  be  present  at  the  review. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF. 

The  day  of  color-presentation  arrived,  and  General 
Houston  stood  in  front  of  the  rebel  regiment.  The  boys 
cheered  him  lustily,  and  everybody  waited  breathlessly 
to  hear  what  he  should  say.  The  hero  of  San  Jacinto 
straightened  his  tall  form,  and  began: 

"Boys  !"  he  cried, in  his  trumpet-tones,  "  EYES  RIGHT!" 

The  command,  uttered  with  soldierly  distinctness,  was 
promptly  obeyed.  Every  eye  was  obliqued  to  the  right. 

•'  Boys  !"  shouted  the  General,  with  a  voice  like  Sten- 

tor,  "  Do  you  see  anything  of  in  your 

ranks  ?"  He  named  one  of  the  two  men  who  had  plotted 
to  get  him  invited  to  speak. 

A  response  of  "  No  !"  came  from  several  soldiers  in 
the  line. 

"Very  well,"  said  Houston — "'Now,  if  you  please — 
EYES  LEFT'" 

The  soldiers  shifted  their  regards  to  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, and  Houston  thundered: 

"  Boys  !  do  you  see  anything  of in 

your  ranks  ?"  reciting  the  name  of  the  other  enemy  who 
had  sought  to  entrap  him. 

"  No  !  No  !"  answered  the  "  boys,"  who  began  to  guess 
the  meaning  of  Houston's  orders. 

"No!"  echoed  the  ex-Governor.  "And  you  never 
will  see  either  of  those  fellows  there  !" 

This  sally  of  "  Old  Jacinto"  against  men  who  were 
known  to  be  ancient  opponents  of  his,  and  who,  withal, 
were  not  personally  over-popular,  was  received  with 
shouts  of  laughter.  When  the  merriment  had  subsided 
somewhat,  the  General's  voice  was  heard  again,  in  his 
tone  of  military  command  : 

"  Boys !"  he  shouted,  "  Do  you  see  anything  of  YOUNG 
SAM  HOUSTON  in  your  ranks  ?" 

"  Yes  !  yes !  yes  '  Young  Sam's  here  !"  were  the  rapid 


254          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

responses  which  ran  along  the  regimental  line  ;  for  the 
soldiers  all  knew  that  Houston's  son  had  enrolled  him- 
self a  few  days  previously. 

"There  I  leave  him  with  you !"  said  "  Old  San  Ja- 
cinto,"  turning  away  from  the  soldiers,  amid  cheers  and 
shouts  which  made  the  woods  ring,  and  showed  what  a 
hold  Sam  Houston  still  maintained  upon  the  people. 
The  malignant  traitors  who  would  have  entrapped  him, 
did  not  venture  to  show  themselves  on  the  field  that  day. 

General  Houston,  though  fallen  from  power,  preserved 
a  great  deal  of  Roman  dignity  in  his  obscurity.  On  one 
occasion,  while  traveling  through  some  portion  of  the 
State,  a  military  official  of  the  Confederacy  demanded  his 
pass-port.  ''Pass-port!"  echoed  Houston,  drawing  him- 
self up,  and  fixing  his  eagle  eye  upon  the  man — "  my 
pass-port,  sir,  is  SAN  JACINTO  !"  He  was  not  challenged 
again. 

But  Houston  has  passed  away.  His  last  conversations 
regarding  our  troubles  were  held  with  Federal  prisoners, 
at  Colonel  Caruthers'  quarters,  in  the  Penitentiary  of 
Huntsville.  Many  of  these,  whom  I  met  at  Camp  Groce, 
claim  still  that  "  Old  Sam"  died  a  Union  man. 

Col.  Burrell  and  Captain  Sherive  arrived  at  our  bar- 
racks a  few  days  after  I  had  become  initiated  and  joined 
the  "  Forty-Second  Mess.M  A  few  extracts  from  my  Diary, 
at  this  time,  will  show  the  routine  of  our  prison-life. 

"  SUNDAY,  August  2d,  1863.  Hot  and  dry.  Accom- 
panied Lieut.  Hayes  to  the  woods,  about  a  quarter-mile 
from  barracks,  where  we  bathed  in  a  sluggish  "brook." — 
Held  religious  exercises  in  barracks.  Col.  Nott  read  the 
Episcopal  service,  and  I  assisted. — Another  poor  fellow, 
one  of  the  42d  Massachusetts  enlisted  men,  was  buried 
to-day;  burial  service  of  R.  C.  Church,  read  by  Lieut. 
Hayes. 


•DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  255 

"MONDAY,  Aug.  3.  Join  42d  mess. — Corn  coffee  at  7 
o'clock  A.  M.  Today  purchased  a  hammock,  for  $15  00, 
Confederate  currency. — Slight  attack  of  the  prevailing 
summer  complaint  .  .  Assisted  in  digging  new  sink  for 
officers. 

"TUESDAY,  Aug.  4.  Suffering  in  head  and  bowels. 
Doctor  attributes  symptoms  to  change  of  water. 

"WEDNESDAY,  Aug.  5.  Today,  we  get  rumors,  from 
Houston,  that  a  new  cartel  is  to  be  soon  opened.  "  Ex- 
change stock"  rises  in  consequence.  My  sickness  con- 
tinues. 

"THURSDAY,  Aug.  6.     Rainy.     A  dismal  day. 

"  FRIDAY,  Aug.  7.  Still  rainy.  Showers  heavy,  pene- 
trating our  roofing,  drenching  our  bunks  and  bedding. 
Col.  Burrell  and  Capt.  Sherive,  of  the  42d  Mass.  Reg. 
arrive  from  Huntsville.  Col.  B.  is  a  tall,  middle-aged, 
wiry-looking  soldier. 

"SATURDAY,  Aug.  8.  Weather  clear  again.  Colonel 
Terry  left  camp,  with  the  balance  of  his  regiment ;  many 
having  deserted.  Col.  Terry  is  the  Confederate  officer 
who  brought  our  officers  to  Camp  Groce  from  Huntsville. 

"  SUNDAY,  Aug.  9.  Religious  services  today.  Preached 
a  sermon  to  the  officers,  which  appears  to  be  well  received. 
We  shall  have  services  regularly  every  Sabbath  now.  At 
request  of  officers,  I  have  promised  to  conduct  them. 

"  MONDAY,  Aug.  10.  Report  that  all  exchange  is  stop- 
ped. We  are  annoyed  by  myriads  of  flies." 

Such  is  a  sample  of  the  monotonous  life  we  were  now 
leading,  varied  only  by  the  fluctuations  of  hope  and  des- 
pondency attendant  on  occasional  rumors,  regarding  "ex- 
change." Incidents  there  were  of  domestic  interest,  also, 
but  not  such  as  served  to  content  us  with  our  situation. 
During  the  month  of  August,  fifteen  officers,  out  of  the 
thirty -five  who  composed  our  number,  were  prostrated  by 


256  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

sickness  at  the  same  time  ;  and  among  these  were  our  two 
surgeons,  Dr.  Cummings,  of  Col.  BurrelPs  regiment,  and 
Dr.  Sherfy,  of  the  "  Morning  Light."  About  the  middle 
of  this  month,  three  sailors  escaped  from  camp,  in  com- 
pany, it  was  said,  of  some  "  Mexican*'  militia-men,  who 
deserted.  Lieut.  Bartlett,  of  the  Massachusetts  officers, 
died  at  one  o'clock  A.  M.  of  the  22d  of  August,  and  we 
bjiried  him  at  5  o'clock  P.  M.,  the  same  day ;  the  burial 
service  being  read  by  Col.  Burrell.  Lieut.  Bartlett  was 
much  esteemed  by  his  brothers  of  the  regiment.  His 
disease  was  Typhus  flux,  which  had  become  fatally  pre- 
valent among  prisoners. 

Our  treatment  by  the  rebels  in  charge  of  this  camp 
was  not,  at  this  time,  irksome,  beyond  the  strict  guard 
maintained.  We  were  permitted  to  visit  the  neighboring 
woods,  to  procure  fuel  and  brush  for  our  verandahs,  and  for 
bathing  purposes.  Negroes  and  hucksters  were  allowed 
to  bring  us  extra  provisions,  and  commissions  were  exe- 
cuted^for  us  at  Houston  and  other  places,  whereby  we 
procured  Java  coffee  at  $10  the  pound,  in  Confederate 
currency,  soda  (for  our  bread)  at  $5.00,  and  tea  at  $20.00 
the  pound,  molasses  at  $5.00  the  gallon,  and  vinegar  at 
fifty  cents.  Our  corn-meal  rations  were  also  occasionally 
changed  for  flour  issues,  and  we  could  buy  sweet  potatoes, 
eggs,  butter,  milk,  and  poultry,  at  comparatively  reason- 
able prices,  in  Confederate  money. 

Thus  the  summer-months  wore  on.  In  September,  we 
received  "  rebel  news"  that  Meade's  army,  20,000  strong, 
had  been  captured  entire.  We  had  already  "  chewed  the 
quid"  of  such  sweet  morsels  as  the  "capture  of  Wash- 
ington," the  "  capture  of  Philadelphia,"  and  the  "  Confede- 
rates marching  on  New  York;"  so  we  quietly  digested  our 
"latest  Southern  victories,"  with  our  customary  diet  of 
corn-bread.  In  the  first  weeks  of  September,  however, 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  257 

the  frequent  passage  of  rebel  troops,  with  munitions  and 
artillery,  on  the  railroad  in  sight  from  our  barracks, 
betokened  military  activity  in  this  quarter ;  and  we  soon 
after  were  gratified  with  reports  regarding  the  appearance 
of  a  Federal  expedition  off  the  coast  at  Sabine  Pass.  Six 
gun-boats  and  twenty-six  transports,  filled  with  "Yankees," 
were  said  to  be  near  the  bar,  and  an  invasion  of  Texas  was 
considered  imminent. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  we  remained  emotionless 
waiters  on  the  "impending  conflict."  But  no  one  who 
has  not  known  captivity  can  realize  the  absorbing  interest 
with  which,  for  two  days  and  nights,  we  weighed  every 
item  of  report,  every  scrap  of  rumor,  that  reached  us,  by 
the  railroad,  or  through  hints  of  friendly  guards.  On  the 
third  day,  however,  arrived  news  which  did  not  comfort 
us  much.  Our  expedition  had  been  repulsed,  our  gun- 
boats captured,  our  Federal  soldiers  and  sailors  made 
prisoners  by  the  rebels. 

We  had  been  attending  the  funeral  of  a  brother  officer, 
Dr.  Cummings,  and  were  returning  to  our  quarters,  when 
these  ill-omened  rumors  took  shape  and  substance  in  a 
telegraph  message  received  by  the  rebel  post-com- 
mandant, notifying  him  to  get  ready  for  the  reception 
of  two  hundred  prisoners.  The  details  of  our  new  Fede- 
ral disaster  were  communicated  speedily  enough,  there- 
after, by  its  victims,  who  became  subsequently  our  part- 
ners through  many  weary  months  of  exile.  To  those 
details  I  must  devote  a  chapter. 


258         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER     XXVII. 

SABINE    PASS    AGAIN. 

THE  year  1863,  though  marked  by  many  brilliant  suc- 
cesses, was  not  a  year  of  fortune  for  our  Union.  We 
boasted  the  capture  of  Vicksburg  and  Port  Hudson,  and 
the  victories  of  Murfreesboro  and  Gettysburg,  but  we 
were  forced  to  acknowledge,  on  the  other  hand,  our  re- 
verses at  Chickamauga,  at  Winchester,  in  Louisiana,  and 
on  the  Texan  coast,  as  well  as  the  more  vital  perils  of 
rebel  invasion  and  sanguinary  domestic  riots.  When  the 
whole  story  of  warlike  operation  and  military  councils 
shall  be  digested  by  unprejudiced  chroniclers  of  another 
generation,  then,  and  not  till  then,  will  many  hidden 
things  be  brought  to  light  and  many  suppressed  chapters 
of«facts  become  accessible  to  public  scrutiny.  In  such 
a  truthful  resume  of  history  the  true  story  of  Sabine 
Pass  will  not  be  the  least  astonishing  disclosure. 

1  have  before  me  the  "  official  reports,"  as  well  as  let- 
ters of  "  correspondents  on  the  spot,"  concerning  the 
disastrous  finale  of  that  expedition  to  the  Sabine's  mouth, 
which,  directed  by  General  Banks,  and  commanded  by 
Generals  Franklin  and  Weitzel,  appeared  upon  the  Texan 
coast,  only  to  be  driven  off  disgracefully,  with  the  loss  of 
two  war-vessels-and  several  hundred  men  captured  by 
the  enemy.  From  the  "  reliable  correspondence"  pu- 
blished in  leading  New  York  journals,  claiming  to  give 
the  account  of  an  eye-witness,  we  obtained  some  curious 
and  romantic  ideas : 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  259 

1.  That,  "considering  the  number  of  the  force   en- 
gaged, it  is  doubtful  if  any  affair  of  the  whole  war  can 
compare  with  the  battle  of  Sabine  Pass,  in  obstinacy  of 
fighting,  loss  of  life,  and  the  amount  of  public  interest." 

2.  That,  "to  the  Union  forces  it  was  the  opening  battle 
of  a  most  brilliant  campaign." 

3.  That    "the   enemy's     loss   has   been   undoubtedly 
without  precedent  in  the  annals  of  war." 

4  That  "the  enemy  will-  tremble  at  a  repetition  of 
the  attack." 

5.  That    "the   loss   of  the    enemy  was   undoubtedly 
enormous." 

6.  That  "  a  combination  of  those  unfortunate  accidents 
which  no  human   foresight   can   prevent   or   overcome, 
turned  victory  into  defeat." 

7.  That  "  the  result  of  the  entire  affair  will  probably, 
and  with  justice,  be  ascribed  to  those  accidents  which  so 
often  determine  the  fate  of  armies  as  well  as  nations." 

The  foregoing  seven  propositions  furnish  a  fair  sample 
of  the  special  pleading  by  which  common  sense  was  insul- 
ted, and  a  disgraceful  failure,  that  should  have  been  pu- 
nished by  prompt  court-martial,  was  magnified  into  a  gal- 
lant struggle  against  overwhelming  odds.  It  is  the  same 
studied  glozing  of  facts  which  deceived  public  opinion, 
though  all  the  mishaps  of  Gulf  affairs,  from  the  loss  of 
Galveston,  on  New  Year's  day,  1863,  to  the  expulsion  of 
our  grand  army  from  the  Red  River,  and  from  all  west- 
ern Louisiana,  before  New  Year's  daj,  1865.  Yet  of  such 
mendacious  statements,  history,  or,  as  General  Sherman 
remarks,  "what  is  called  history,"  will  be  made  up  by 
those  who  must  rely  on  contemporary  authorities  for  the 
data  where  on  they  build  their  ponderous  folios. 

I  think  that,  of  all  the  "interest  involved"  in  the  pro- 
jected capture  of  Sabine  Pass,  we  poor  Union  prisoners 


260  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

who  were,  at  that  time,  confined  at  Camp  Groce,  seventy- 
five  miles  from  the  Pass,  had  our  ample  share.  With 
anxious  hearts  we  had  waited  confidently  for  a  different 
result ;  since  none  knew  better  than  we  had  learned,  the 
defenceless  condition  of  Texas,  and  the  certainty  with 
which  an  ordinary  Union  army  could,  in  one  month,  over- 
run the  sea-board  and  lower  counties,  from  Houston  to 
Austin  and  from  Sabine  River  to  the  Rio  Grande.  Lo- 
cated as  we  were  on  the  railroad  line,  which  brought  and 
carried  every  rumor  from  the  west  and  the  interior,  as 
well  as  from  the  eastern  border  and  the  coast,  we  had  not 
only  become  apprised  of  events  as  they  transpired,  but 
we  could  form  correct  estimates  of  the  amount  of  prepa- 
ration and  degree  of  resistance  which  a  Yankee  invasion 
might  expect  in  Texas.  Some  of  us  were  in  daily  contact 
with  guards  whose  sympathies  were  neither  chary  nor 
doubtful.  Good  Union  men,  in  rebel  homespun,  and  with 
Confederate  arms  in  their  hands,  were  daily  whispering 
to  us  words  of  cheer;  and  when,  in  that  first  week  of 
September,  we  had  heard  of  a  Federal  force  of  six  war 
steamers  and  twenty-six  transports  being  off  the  bar  at 
Sabine,  it  is  no  wonder  that  we  had  met  each  other  with 
hopeful  faces,  and  counted  the  hours  which  might  elapse 
ere  we  should  look  upon  our  "Old  Flag"  flying  over 
Camp  Groce  prison-yard. 

Miserable  was  the  reaction  of  our  feelings,  when,  re- 
turning one  evening  from  the  Masonic  burial  of  Surgeon 
Cummings,  we  heard  the  first  report,  scarcely  credited 
by  even  the  bitterest  rebels,  that  our  fleet  and  army  had 
been  beaten  off,  and  several  gun -boats  captured  at  the 
Pass.  I  looked  in  the  eyes  of  a  Masonic  brother,  (honest 
Union  man,  though  in  rebel  uniform,)  for  something  which 
might  deny  the  fearful  rumor;  bu,t  he  shook  his  head, 
with  a  glance  as  troubled  as  my  own.  We  found  our 


I     \  -t  • 

DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  261 

worst  fears  verified.  The  American  squadron  and  army, 
with  its  brave  sea-captains  and  skillful  generals,  had  re- 
treated from  the  coast ;  not  exactly 

"  Foiled  by  a  woman's  hand  before  a  batter'd  wall," 
but  quite  as  shamefully  driven  off  by  forty-two  Irish 
militiamen  in  a  mud-fort  with  six, pieces  of  artillery  1 
The  details,  as  I  have  said,  we  learned  through  the 
recital  of  prisoners  like  ourselves,  fresh  from  the  scene 
of  their  defeat,  and  burning  with  indignation  against  the 
authors  of  it. 

They  had  come,  those  brave  gun-boat-men  and  their 
gallant  officers — those  chosen  sharp-shooters  from  the 
New  York  75th  and  161st  regiments — to  be  flung  ashore, 
into  the  enemy's  hands,  and  devoted  to  long  imprison- 
ment, hardship .  and  privation.  Pioneers  of  the  Yankee 
fleets  that  were  to  follow,  skirmishers  in  front  of  the 
Yankee  army  of  six  thousand  men,  in  twenty-six  trans- 
ports, hugging  the  Sabine  bar,  these  new  prisoners — 
some  four  hundred  in  number — arrived  a  few  days  after- 
wards, to  tell  us  the  story  of  Sabine  Pass,  not  "officially," 
or  in  the  choice  language  of  "  special  correspondents,'* 
but  with  plain,  rough  emphasis,  such  as  men  use  when 
they  feel  that  their  lives  and  honor  have  been  trifled  with 
by  those  who  should  have  cherished  both. 

In  this  wise,  I  gathered  details  concerning  that  Fede- 
ral expedition  of  invasion.  From  log-books  of  naval 
officer,  from  yarns  of  man-of-wars-man,  from  recital  of 
service-striped  sergeant,  I  became  possessed  of  truer  in- 
formation regarding  this,  as  well  as  other  affairs,  than  I 
could  have  gained  out  of  all  the  red-tape  documents  at 
head-quarters. 

Full  of  expectation,  after  re-conquest  of  Brashear  City, 
the  stout  gun-boat  Clifton,  flag-ship  of  Captain  Crocker, 
with  her  consort,  the  Sachem,  Captain  Johnson,  steamed 


262         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

out  of  the  Atchafalaya's  mouth,  on  the  morn  of  September 
6th,  and,  with  the  gun-boat  Arizona  and  a  dozen  or  more 
transports,  proceeded  to  the  mouth  of  the  Sabine.  Here 
they  stood  joff  and  on,  a  while,  no  coast-guard  being  in 
view.  Propitious  moments  these  for  blockade-runners ; 
as  never  a  Federal  "warder'*  heaves  in  sight  that  day 
or  night,  it  seems.  Next  day  flag-officer  Crocker,  stand- 
ing on  and  off  amidst  the  fleet,  sends  Johnson,  with  his 
Sachem,  to  the  Pass;  and  on  his  way  the  latter  skipper 
overhauls  our  missing  blockade-steamer  Granite  City, 
quietly  returning  from  a  trip  off  Calcasieu.  That  day 
(the  7th)  sees  nothing  further  done;  but  on  the  8th  a 
council  is  convened  on  board  the  transport  Suffolk,  where- 
at Generals  Franklin  and  Weitzel,  and  their  naval  con- 
freres, captains  of  the  gun-boats,  settle  on  a  plan  for 
capturing  the  rebel  fortress.  Friendly  shore-scouts  have 
assured  them  that  no  more  than  five  or  six  hundred  rebels 
can  be  mustered  in  the  fort  or  at  Sabine  City,  and  that 
all  the  border  force  consists  of  two  or  three  thousand  con- 
scripts. So  it  is  decided  to  attack  the  place  at  once. 
General  Weitzel  and  flag-captain  Crocker  go  ashore  in  a 
small  boat  to  reconnoitre  for  a  landing-place  ;  the  spot  is 
selected;  the  details  of  disembarkation  are  agreed  upon; 
nothing  remains  but  to*  carry  out  the  programme. 

There  are  two  channels  debouching  from  the  mouth  of 
Sabine  River — a  western  one,  called  the  Texan,  and  an 
eastern  one,  known  as  the  Louisiana  channel.  They  are 
separated  by  a  shallow  bank  of  shifting  sands,  horse-shoe 
shaped,  within  the  hollow  of  which  a  vessel  striking 
would  be  grounded.  The  channels,  as  well  as  the  sand- 
shallows  dividing  them,  are  commanded  by  the  river 
banks,  so  that  a  battery  on  the  Texan  side  can  sweep  the 
river  to  the  Louisiana  side.  The  Texan  bank  is  curving, 
and  behind  a  rounding  point  are  built  the  rebel  earth- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  -THE  GULF.  263 

works  with  a  front  of  a  hundred  yards  or  more.  The 
Clifton  is  to  follow  up  this  bank,  and  run  the  batteries, 
so  as  to  bring  her  guns  upon  the  rebel  rear,  which  is  not 
fortified.  The  gun-boat  Sachem  takes  the  Louisiana  chan- 
nel, the  Arizona  following,  while  our  blockading  steamer 
Granite  City  remains  below,  to  cover  a  landing  of  the 
troops. 

Well-planned  thus  far;  and,  to  insure  a  prompt  disem- 
barkation, the  boats  belonging  to  both  the  Clifton  and  the 
Sachem  are  borrowed  for  the  use  of  our  soldiers.  They 
are  to  be  lashed,  side  by  side,  between  the  Granite  City 
and  the  beach ;  so  that  our  troops,  marching  from  their 
transports  over  the  gun-boat  decks,  may  cross  the  bridge 
of  small  boats  and  step  dry-shod  upon  land. 

All  preparations  made,  two  companies  of  our  gallant 
New  York  boys  (from  the  161st),  and  another  detachment 
from  the  veteran  75th  New  York  Infantry,  being  sent  on 
board  our  gun-boats  as  sharp-shooters,  a  signal  from  the 
Clifton,  "up  anchor,"  sets  both  upon  the  onset.  Stout 
Sachem-captain  Johnson  stands  on  his  quarter-deck,  while 
the  little  war  vessel  that  he  has  trodden  in  many  a  perilous 
pass,  ploughs  up  the  Louisiana  channel — the  Arizona 
steaming  in  her  wake.  At  the  Sachem's  bows  her  pivot 
gun  points  toward  the  enemy's  forts,  however  devious  her 
passage.  Her  broadside  thirty-two's  are  ready  for  busi- 
ness, but  her  Parrott  speeds  first  across  the  quiet  waters. 
Meantime  the  Clifton,  separated  by  sand-shallows,  bears 
up  through  the  Texas  channel,  close  to  its  winding  bank, 
and  presently  her  nine-inch  pivot  sends  a  shell  mid-air 
and  drops  it  plumply  upon  the  rebel  earthworks  The 
fort  makes  no  reply.  An  ominous  silence  continues  be- 
hind those  rude  defences,  and  our  brace  of  gun-boats, 
dashing  head  on,  gaining  length  after  length,  already 
threaten  to  run  by  the  enemy  in  Farragut's  good  old 


264:  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

style.  The  Sachem's  bold  commander,  looking  back,  be- 
holds the  Clifton  in  the  opposite  channel,  striving  to  in- 
crease her  speed.  Flag-Captain  Crocker  is  determined 
to  run  by  those  batteries ;  Sachem-captain  Johnson  must 
not  fall  behind.  So  his  little  gun-boat  heads  westward  a 
bit,  while  the  Arizona  lags  in  her  track. 

There  is  a  stake  at  yonder  beach  point,  opposite  a 
curving  prominence  of  the  Texan  shore — a  suspicious 
water-mark  to  Yankee  eyes.  The  Sachem's  crew  dis- 
cover it  first,  and  the  Clifton's  lookouts  note  it  as  their 
vessel  rounds  the  land  point.  The  Sachem  steams  towards 
it,  amid  a  crashing  fire  of  all  the  rebel  guns,  which  now 
have  opened  in  good  earnest.  Six  heavy  pieces  play  at 
once  npon  our  little  steamer.  For  twenty  minutes  a 
shower  of  shot  and  shell  rains  down  upon  her  deck.  At 
last  her  bows  are  opposite  the  stake.  A  moment's  pause 
is  noticed  in  the  rebel  fire,  and  then  a  ball  comes  crush- 
ing through  the  gun-boat's  boiler.  A  fierce  explosion 
follows,  and  the  hiss  of  liberated  steam  succeeds.  White 
clouds  of  burning,  stifling  vapor  drive  our  soldiers  from 
their  stations.  Shrieks  and  groans  resound  from  stem  to 
stern.  Thirty -four  gallant  men  are  killed  outright,  or 
scalded  well  nigh  unto  death,  by  that  one  terrible  stroke 
of  fate.  Fear-stricken  sufferers  leap  wildly  overboard; 
dismal  confusion  ensues;  the  gun-boat  swings  around, 
disabled. 

Not  long  are  the  rebels  in  discovering  how  cruelly  that 
last  shot  told  upon  one  opponent;  and,  leaving  her  to 
drift  with  her  dead  and  dying,  they  turn  their  guns  upon 
the  newer  foe.  At  this,  moment  the  Clifton,  rounding 
that  point  which  hid  the  rebel  guns,  appears  resolved  to 
force  her  passage  upward.  She  advances  swiftly,  inter- 
posing between  the  rebel  batteries  and  her  crippled  con- 
sort. She  receives  and  returns  thei^r  direct  fire,  and  then 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  265 

essays  a  short  turn  for  her  gauntlet  passage.  But  the 
Clifton's  fortunes  reach,  at  length,  a  turn  as  short  as  any 
channel-bend.  Striking  a  sand-bank,  she  grounds,  and 
lies  unmanageable  under  the  rebel  batteries.  A  storm  of 
rebel  iron  pours  down  upon  her.  She  cannot  bring  her 
broadside  into  play.  Its  battery  is  pointed  toward  the 
Louisiana  border.  Only  her  bow-gun  could  be  used  with 
effect;  till  her  32-pounders,  being  whirled  about,  their 
shot  plunged  through  her  opposite  bulwarks,  speeding  on 
the  enemy.  The  fort,  at  this  time,  was  within  three 
hundred  yards  of  our  doomed  gun-boat,  and  a  rebel  mis- 
sile soon  crashed  into  her  steam-chest.  Her  rudder- 
chains  were  parted.  She  no  longer  answered  her  helm. 
Escaping  steam  scalded  the  sharp-shooters  on  her  hur- 
ricane-deck. From  this  moment  the  rebels  were  masters 
of  the  channel.  Our  two  gun-boats  struck  their  colors. 
The  enemy  boarded  them,  in  sight  of  our  army  and  its 
generals.  Three  hundred  gallant  soldiers  and  sailors 
were  suffered  to  be  carried  away  prisoners,  without  a 
shot  being  fired  in  an  effort  to  rescue  them. 

"Why  were  they  abandoned  ?  Why  were  six  thousand 
Federal  troops,  with  arms  and  ammunition,  with  every- 
thing requisite  for  a  successful  assault  of  earthworks, 
permitted  to  remain  on  ship-board  without  an  attempt  to 
land  them,  for  the  dislodgement  of  our  foes  ? 

Why  were  the  Clifton  and  Sachem  deprived  of  their 
small  boats,  with  which  their  sharp-shooters  might  have 
effected  a  landing,  even  after  the  gun-boats  were  placed 
hors  du  combat  ? 

Why  were  not  the  small  boats  used  as  a  bridge  from 
the  Granite  City  to  the  beach,  whereby  our  federal  troops 
could  have  been  landed  to  support  the  gun-boats  ? 

Why  did  not  the  Arizona,  largest  of  these  boats,  make 


266          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

fast  to  the  Sachem,  and  haul  her  from  her  perilous  posi- 
tion, after  the  perforation  of  her  boiler  ? 

Why  were  not  our  soldiers  landed  from  the  transports, 
and  marched,  as  they  might  have  been,  from  their  point 
of  disembarkation,  to  the  rear  of  the  fort  (a  mile  or  two 
only),  and  thus  thrown  into  position  to  compass  and  as- 
sault the  earthwork  on  its  undefended  land  side  ? 

Will  it  be  credited  that  our  attacking  gun-boats  were 
captured,  their  consorts  driven  off,  and  the  whole  expedi- 
tion turned  back,  discomfited,  by  the  resistance  of  forty- 
two  men,  working  six  guns,  behind  an  earthwork  ? 

Yet  such  is  the  case.  We,  who  waited  so  full  of  anxi- 
ous hopes,  in  our  gloomy  barracks  of  Camp  Groce,  know 
well  the  panic  of  rebels,  suddenly  threatened  by  invasion, 
and  their  wonderful  transition  from  despair  to  triumph, 
when  the  astounding  news  came — of  a  victory  at  Sabine 
Pass. 

I  met  the  Confederate  officer  who  arrived  in  charge  of 
the  Federal  prisoners  from  our  gun-boats ;  an  intelligent 
Marylander,  who  had  known  me  several  years  before.  He 
was  frank  and  honest  in  his  admissions. 

"Never  were  men  more  disappointed  in  the  result 
than  we  ourselves,"  he  said  to  me.  "  I  fully  believed 
that  it  would  be  my  fate  to  march  a  prisoner,  with  my 
fellow-rebels,  rather  than  to  come  to  this  post  in  charge 
of  Yankee  prisoners." 

"  You  had  no  expectation  of  making  a  successful  re- 
sistance, then?"  I  remarked  to  the  lieutenant. 

"  We  had  made  up  our  minds  that  every  one  of  us 
must  be  captured,  either  at  the  fort  or  in  Sabine  City," 
he  replied.  "What  other  hope  could  we  have — a  raw 
company  of  Irish  militia — the  Davis  Guards — attempting 
to  resist  your  fleet  and  army  ?" 

"  Did  you  expect  that  a  landing  would  be  made  ?" 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  267 

We  expected  that,  of  course,  and  had  no  means  of  de- 
ourselves  against  it.  Two  hundred  soldiers 
marching  up  to  flank  the  fort,  must  .have  obliged  us 
either  to  run  or  surrender.  There  could  have  been  no 
alternative  but  to  die  in  the  fort,  uselessly  fighting." 

"What  did  you  think,  lieutenant,  when  you  saw  our 
gun-boats  apparently  disabled  and  grounded  ?n 

"  We  thought  it  was  a  strategem,  at  first.  It  appeared 
to  us  as  if  your  two  vessels  were  put  forward,  like  pawns 
in  a  game  of  chess,  to  be  taken  easily." 

"Did  you  expect  to  get  possession  of  the  gun-boats 
after  you  discovered  their  disabled  condition?" 

"  We  began  to  have  a  little  hope  of  escaping  ourselves; 
but  if  a  landing  had  been  even  then  made  by  your  troops 
we  should  never  have  ventured  to  board  those  gun-boats." 

"  Could  not  your  armed  steamers  on  the  Sabine  have 
aided  your  defence  ?" 

The  lieutenant  smiled.  "Your  batteries,"  he  said,  "were 
stronger  than  ours,  and  in  the  hands  of  experienced  ar- 
tillerists. We  had  no  reinforcements  nearer  than  Beau- 
mont, and  you  would  have  gained  Sabine  City  and  all  the 
Louisiana  coast  for  your  base.  We  were  lucky  on  our 
side,  and  you  were — "  My  Confederate  friend  paused, 
abruptly. 

"  Well,  lieutenant,  what  do  you  honestly  think  of  our 
side  ?"  I  inquired. 

"Excuse  my  answering,''  said  the  rebel  officer,  "You 
are  a  prisoner-of-war,  and  I  have  no  wish  to  say  anything 
unpleasant  to  you." 

This  significant  response  satisfied  ine,  for  the  moment, 
concerning  the  opinion  of  our  enemies  regarding  the  affair 
at  Sabine  Pass.  I  asked  only  one  more  question : 

"  What  was  your  loss.'  lieutenant  ?     You  know  ours.'* 

"We  lost  not  a  man,"  answered  the  rebel. 


268          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Having  obtained  this  sum  of  information  relative  to 
that  famous  expedition  of  invasion,  I  parted  from  my  re- 
bel acquaintance,  and  went  back  to  my  quarters,  to  make 
a  note  of  the  conversation  which  is  here  reproduced. 
Bitter  were  my  reflections,  in  common  with  all  our  de- 
spondent prisoners,  new  and  old.  Freedom  had  been  al- 
most within  our  sight ;  a  Union  victory  had  appeared  to 
be  an  assured  event.  Texas  might  have  seen  the  old  flag 
streaming  over  all  her  hills  and  prairies.  Instead  of  this 
—  we  could  only  bite  our  lips. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  269 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

LIFE    AND    DEATH    AT    CAMP    GE.OCE. 

THE  "  bad  news  from  Sabine  "  reached  us,  as  I  men- 
tioned, on  our  return  from  a  Masonic  burial  of  Surgeon 
Cummings  of  the  Massachusetts  infantry. "  The  ceremony 
was  an  impressive  one,  and  had  been  fraternally  partici- 
pated in  by  many  Masons  belonging  to  our  Confederate 
guards.  Together,  with  white  aprons,  and  bearing  willow 
wands,  the  men  of  North  and  South  walked  solemnly  be- 
hind the  bier;  together  they  surrounded  the  grave,  and 
listened  to  the  beautiful  ritual  of  burial ;  together,  then, 
they  cast  the  "  ashes  to  ashes,  and  dust  to  dust,"  and, 
dropping  sprigs  of  evergreen  upon  the  dead,  as  types  of 
an  immortal  resurrection,  together  they  uttered  the  solemn 
adjuration — "Amen!  So  mote  it  be!"  In  this  Masonic 
interchange,  war  and  strife  were  for  a  brief  space  for- 
gotten, and  charity  lovingly  united  the  hands  and  hearts 
of  those  who  had  been  created  one  family  by  the  Sub- 
lime Architect  of  souls. 

The  preliminaries  of  the  funeral  had  been  arranged  at 
a  meeting  of  free-masons,  called  by  one  of  our  guards  who 
held  high  rank  in  the  fraternity ;  and  the  following  reso- 
lutions were  adopted  and  signed  by  all. 

CAMP  GROCE,  near  Hempstead,  Texas, 

September  10,  1863. 

To  the   Worshipful  Master  Wardens   and  Brethren  of 
Washington  Lodge,  Roxbury,  Mass.,  Greeting: 

At  an  informal  meeting  of  the  Masonic  Brethren  at 


270          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

this  place,  Bro.  A.  J.  H.  Duganne,  of  Metropolitan  Lodge, 
New  York,  being  chosen  chairman;  Henry  W.  Washburn, 
of  Union  Lodge,  New  London,  Conn.,  chosen  Secretary; 
the  following  resolutions  were  read  and  adopted  : 

Resolved.  That  we  attend  in  a  body,  as  MASONS,  and 
give  our  Deceased  Brother,  Ariel  Ivers  Cummings,  of 
Washington  Lodge,  Roxbury,  Mass.,  a  Masonic  funeral, 
as  nearly  as  we  are  able  so  to  do,  and  that  Brother  A.  J.  H. 
Duganne  conduct  the  ceremonies. 

Resolved.  That  a  scroll,  containing  name,  age,  etc.  be 
buried  with  our  deceased  brother,  and  that  a  copy  of  the 
same  be  forwarded  to  Washington  Lodge. 

Resolved.  That  we,  as  Masons,  deeply  sympathize  with 
Washington  Lodge,  and  believe  its  members  have  lost  a 
most  worthy  and  well-beloved  brother;  one  who  had  the 
welfare  of  the  Order  at  heart,  and,  to  the  best  of  our 
knowledge,  always  carried  out  the  principles  of  Christian 
Masonry. 

Resolved.  That  we  hail  the  Masonic  sympathy  which 
characterizes  this  occasion  of  our  deceased  brother's  fu- 
neral, at  which  lodges  from  the  North,  South,  East  and 
West  are  most  harmoniously  represented,  as  another  il- 
lustration of  the  fraternal  spirit  which  is  continually  ad- 
ding strength  to  the  foundation  and  beauty  to  the  arches 
of  our  well-beloved  Order. 

Resolved,  Tn&i  we  condole  with  the  widow  of  our  de- 
ceased brother,  in  the  bereavement  she  has  sustained,  and, 
through  Faith,  hope  that  the  Grand  Master  of  all  will, 
with  Charity,  uphold  and  protect  her,  until  they  meet  in 
realms  Above. 

A.  J.  H.  DUGANNE,  Chairman. 

HENRY  W.  WASHBURN,  Secretary. 


DEPABTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  271 

The  first  instalment  of  rebel  captures  at  Sabine  City 
reached  Camp  Groce  in  the  bodily  shapes  of  two  hundred 
and  thirty  one  soldiers  and  sailors,  who  were  consigned 
to  a  vacant  portion  of  our  barrack  line.  Shortly  after 
their  arrival,  our  guard,  under  Captain  Buster,  were  re- 
lieved by  a  company  of  conscripts,  and  ordered  to  Camp 
Lubbock,  near  Houston.  We  heard  no  more  from  the 
Federal  fleet,  and  rebellion-stock  in  Texas  grew  obviously 
higher  day  by  day.  About  the  middle  of  September,  we 
began  to  get  acquainted  with  that  peculiar  visiter  of  this 
latitude  known  as  a  "Norther." 

A  "Norther"  gives  little  premonition  of  its  coming. 
Noon  may  be  fair  and  cloudless  skies  may  seem  to  pro- 
mise a  balmy  evening,  when  suddenly  a  low  wind  sings 
through  the  woodlands,  whistles  accross  the  prairies,  and, 
then,  swelling  into  strength  and  fury,  lashes  the  forests 
like  a  flail,  and  sweeps  with  a  roar  toward  the  coast; 
sometimes  dry  and  cold,  and  freezing  the  marrow  in  one's 
bones,  and  sometimes  charged  with  gusty  rain  that  de- 
luges the  country — swelling  the  rivers,  flooding  the 
marsh-lands,  and  making  the  roads  almost  impassable. 
Woe  to  the  forlorn  traveller  who  is  overtaken  by  a  winter 
Norther  while  crossing  a  wide  prairie.  Horsemen  have 
been  found  in  the  saddle,  chilled  to  death  by  this  icy 
wind ;  beef  cattle  and  even  herds  of  swine  have  perished 
under  the  arctic  cold  of  a  December  norther  in  Texas. 

The  routine  of  camp-life  had  been  wearisome  enough, 
even  if  perfect  health  could  have  been  assured  us.  But 
with  the  sick  and  dying  constantly  in  our  midst,  nightly 
watches  were  rendered  necessary,  and  a  mental  despon- 
dency began  to  prey  upon  many  who  were  not  physically 
ill.  Once  a  week,  at  least,  we  were  called  upon  to  fol- 
low the  pine-coffin  of  some  poor  captive,  and  our  rough 
burial  ground  in  the  timber  grew  apace  with  graves  of 


I 
272         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Federals,  marked  by  wooden  headboards,  on  which  Lieu- 
tenant Eddy,  of  the  "Forty-Second,"  was  accustomed  to 
paint  the  name  and  age  of  the  departed.  The  poor  lieu- 
tenant was  also  an  invalid,  and  sometimes  obliged  to  prop 
himself  on  a  pillow  in  his  bunt,  while  he  traced  the  sad 
record  of  death,  in  "  silver-white"  paint,  kept  carefully 
for  such  occasions  by  our  provident  and  useful  Captain 
Proctor,  of  the  same  regiment.  I  attended  at  our  funer- 
als, and  usually  read  the  service,  sometimes  making  a  few 
remarks  befitting  the  solemn  moment.  The  little  mounds 
accumulated  fast,  and,  one  day,  with  some  stout  tars  of 
the  "Morning  Light"  and  "Harriet  Lane,"  and  a  few 
privates  of  the  75th  New  York  regiment,  Captain  Van 
Tine  and  myself  contrived  to  get  a  rude  log  fence  con- 
structed around  our  little  "  God's  acre"  of  prison-dead. 

Our  Sabbath-day  exercises  continued;  and  we  solaced 
ourselves  occasionally  with  singing  in  our  quarters ;  there 
being  several  excellent  voices  among  the  "42d"  officers. 
Our  militia-guards,  who  had  replaced  Captain  Buster's 
company,  were  not  all  so  friendly  as  their  predecessors. 
We  had  occasion  to  note  this  fact  a  few  evenings  follow- 
ing their  advent,  when  one  of  them  deliberately  fired  at 
a  sailor-boy,  whose  offence  was,  in  the  excitement  of 
sport,  pursuing  a  runaway  ball  to  the  guard-line.  With- 
out challenge  or  caution,  the  cowardly  fellow  drew  up  his 
£un,  and  discharged  it  at  our  sailor  lad;  and  the  bullet, 
whizzing  past  the  latter,  sped  toward  our  barracks  in 
dangerous  closeness  to  the  ball-players. 

In  the  first  week  of  October,  Dr.  Sherfy,  our  indefatig- 
able surgeon,  reported  one  hundred  and  twenty  prisoners 
on  his  sick-list.  We  had  fears,  at  this  time,  that  our 
camp-fevers  might  be  developed  to  a  more  malignant  type, 
as  Yellow  Fever  was  said  to  be  rife  at  Houston,  and  we 
were  told  that,  on  previous  visits  of  this  epidemic,  the 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  273 

neighborhood  of  Camp  Groce  had  been  fatally  ravaged. 
But  we  were  happily  spared  from  such  aggravation  of  our 
condition.  About  this  time,  the  citizen-prisoners  who  re- 
mained with  us  were  notified  that  they  would  be  speedily 
liberated.  One  of  them,  Holliday,  had  already  succeeded 
in  negotiating  a  "  ransom, M  by  paying  some  hundreds  of 
dollars  in  specie  to  a  Houston  lawyer.  Upon  the  fifth  of 
October,  we  were  abruptly  ordered  to  make  room  in  our 
quarters  for  the  Federal  officers  captured  at  Sabine  Pass, 
who  arrived  that  evening  by  the  railroad.  This  neces- 
sitated a  general  "  doubling  up"  in  our  bunking  arrange- 
ments, but  we  succeeded  in  accommodating  the  new-com- 
ers, who,  at  ten  o'clock,  P.  M.,  appeared  to  be  snugly 
bestowed  for  the  night. 

But  rebel  authorities  are  like  their  negroes — "  mighty 
uncertain;"  a  truth  which  we  experienced  very  soon; 
for,  before  midnight,  an  officer  and  file  of  men  invaded 
our  slumbers,  with  orders  for  all  the  "Sabine  Pass" 
officers  to  vacate  the  premises,  and  repair  to  other  dormi- 
tories. The  post-commandant,  it  seemed,  had  overlooked 
an  order  from  Houston,  which  required  him  to  confine  the 
new  prisoners  by  themselves,  and  to  allow  them  no  in- 
tercourse whatever  with  the  old  ones. 

So  our  later  comrades  in  misfortune  were  now  suddenly 
routed  from  their  comfortable  quarters,  and  obliged  to 
tramp,  in  darkness,  to  some  vacant  sheds  upon  the  rising 
ground  that  lay  between  our  barracks  and  the  railroad. 
There  they  were  left,  upon  a  floor  of  broken  boards,  to 
make  themselves  as  contented  as  possible  till  daylight. 
Next  morning,  they  were  permitted  to  receive,  through 
the  guards,  such  rations  as.  we  could  cook  for  them  ;  and 
this  arrangement  continued  until  they  succeeded,  several 
weeks  afterwards,  in  building  chimneys  and  fireplaces  to 
their  dilapidated  stack  of  sheds.  Meantime,  we  heard 


274          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

various  reasons  assigned  for  the  close  confinement  of  these 
officers ;  among  others,  that  they  had  thrown  overboard 
the  small-arms  from  their  gun-boats,  and  that  they  had 
concealed  a  large  amount  of  Federal  money,  which  had 
been  in  custody  of  the  Clifton's  paymaster.  Doubtless, 
the  suspicion  of  a  secret  correspondence  between  these 
officers,  who  had  so  recently  come  from  Houston,  and  some 
Union  men  lately  arrested  in  that  city,  was  the  true  cause 
of  the  "non-intercourse"  orders;  for,  on  a  Sabbath  morn- 
ing, about  twelve  days  after  the  separation,  our  barracks 
were  abruptly  entered  by  detachments  of  the  guard,  and 
our  persons,  trunks,  and  bunks  searched  rigorously.  All 
papers  that  appeared  suspicious,  together  with  all  our 
money,  whether  specie,  "greenbacks,"  or  Confederate 
currency,  were  taken  from  us,  and  we  were  notified  that 
henceforth  we  should  be  allowed  to  purchase  "  extras,"  and 
pay  our  "washing"  or  other  bills,  only  through  drafts 
upon  our  funds,  which  were  to  be  held  in  trust  by  the 
rebel  post-commandant,  Colonel  Bates. 

The  "citizens"  left  camp  early  in  October;  it  being 
supposed  that  they  would  be  sent  from  Houston,  across 
the  state,  to  Mexico,  and  thence  allowed  to  find  their 
way  to  the  United  States.  But  they  were  hardly  absent 
a  week  before  we  saw  them  returned  to  us ;  there  being 
no  means  of  overland  transportation,  and  the  wife  of 
Stratton  being,  of  course,  unable  to  make  a  foot-journey. 
We  now  lost  another  of  our  officers,  Lieut'.  Rumsey,  of 
the  175th  New  York  Volunteers.  He  had  been  lingering 
long,  under  dysentery  and  pneumonia,  and  was  wasted  to 
a  mere  skeleton.  Shortly  after  poor  Rumsey's  death,  we 
were  called  upon  to  lament  the  sudden  loss  of  another 
officer  of  the  same  regiment,  Lieut.  Hayes,  a  favorite  with 
all  of  us,  and  to  whom  I  had  become  personally  attached, 
attracted,  by  his  many  amiable  traits  of  character.  We 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  275 

had  lately  formed  a  small  mess  together,  and  I  can  never 
forget  his  attention  and  kindness  to  me,  during  days  of 
indisposition ;  nor  the  bright  smile  with  which  he  was 
wont  to  awaken  me,  at  morning,  bringing  to  my  bunk  a 
cup  of  "Lincoln  coffee,"  that  he  usually  prepared  before 
our  regular  breakfast.  He  had  been  complaining  of  illness 
two  or  three  days,  but  our  surgeon  did  not  suppose  the 
least  danger  to  be  apprehended;  deeming,  as  others  did, 
that  the  young  officer  was  only  worn  out  with  attendance 
upon  others ;  for  Lieut  Hayes  had  been  unremitting  in 
his  care  of  sick  comrades  at  all  times.  But  the  inexorable 
messenger,  who  had  summoned  so  many  of  our  number, 
came  likewise  to  my  little  mess,  and  divided  its  mates. 
Lieut.  Hayes  lay  down,  at  night  in  my  hammock,  which 
he  preferred  to  his  cot-bed,  and,  in  the  morning,  when 
Lieut.  Stone  went  to  awaken  him,  the  heart  of  our  brother 
was  stilled  forever.  I  know  not  if  he  had  felt  presenti- 
ments of  death  ;  but  a  few  days  previously  he  had  related 
to  me  a  dream,  which  I  recalled  to  memory  while  following 
his  remains  to  their  last  resting-place. 

"  I  thought  I  was  at  home,"  he  said,  "and  that  a  crowd 
of  visitors  were  calling  on  me.  They  came  by  carriages- 
full,  and  stepped  out  on  the  walk  before  the  house  as 
naturally  as  if  it  were  reality;  and  they  were  all  living 
people;  but  their  faces  were  the  faces  of  dead  friends 
and  relatives.  Then  I  thought  I  fell  asleep,  and  that  my 
eyes  opened,  it  seemed,  upon  another  world,  where  there 
were  thousands  of  angels  floating  in  the  air ;  and  I  saw 
the  Virgin  Mary,  with  a  halo  round  her  head,  and  her 
face  and  garments  shining  brighter  than  sunlight.  She 
seemed  to  look  smilingly  down,  as  if  calling  me.)J 

Lieut.  Hayes  was  a  devout  Roman  Catholic,  and  his 
faith,  doubtless,  gave  color  to  his  visions.  But  as  I  re- 
called his  blameless  character,  his  amiable  demeanor. 


276          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

and  the  fine  blending  of  seriousness  and  humor  which, 
made  his  society  pleasant,  I  could  not  but  hope  that  his 
dream  would  merge  into  reality,  and  that  the  Queen  of 
Heaven  might  be  indeed  smiling  upon  him  at  that  hour, 
far  up  beyond  all  clouds  which  overhung  our  dreary  pri- 
son-house. 

The  low  Texan  forests  were  bending  and  sighing  under 
the  first  blast  of  a  "  Norther,"  as  we  walked,  in  sad  pro- 
cession, two  by  two,  to  bury  the  remains  of  our  genial 
comrade — the  honorable,  brave, and  dutiful  soldier;  whose 
sudden  death  had  fallen  upon  each  of  us  like  a  personal 
bereavement. 

Two  by  two,  we  followed  the  mule-cart,  which  con- 
tained a  coffin  of  rough  yellow-pine.  The  wagon-wheels 
jerked  heavily  over  stumps  and  hillocks  on  the  road  that 
led  through  recently-cleared  land  to  that  small  elevation, 
where  we  were  accumulating  graves,  ranged  side  by  side; 
the  tablets  of  our  captivity.  The  negro  driver  sat  at  one 
end  of  the  coffin;  we  walked  close  behind  it,  and  our 
ever-present  guards,  with  loaded  muskets,  marched  on 
either  side.  Climbing  to  the  grave,  that  had  been  digged 
by  the  sailors  of  our  company;  standing  at  the  edges, 
upon  red  clumps  of  earth ;  looking  into  the  hollow,  as  the 
coffin  was  lowered  down ;  listening  to  the  rattle  of  the 
clods  upon  the  pine  boards ;  so  proceeded  the  burial  of 
our  friend  and  comrade.  A  brother-officer  of  the  dead, 
Lieut.  Dunn,  read  the  burial  service,  and  we  turned  back, 
guarded  by  scowling  rebels,  in  the  face  of  winds  that 
now  came  howling  from  the  prairies.  How  we  prayed,  in 
our  hearts,  for  a  "  NORTHER"  that  might  sweep  this  rebel 
country  like  a  tornado ! 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  277 


CHAPTER,    XXIX. 

FALLING  LEAVES. 

THE  rebel  "powers  that  be"  are  becoming  vigilant. 
Post-Commandant  Bates  rides  up  and  down  on  inspection 
tours.  Lieut.  Col.  Barnes  visits  our  quarters  periodi- 
cally. Negroes  are  hauling  posts,  and  digging  a  trench 
around  our  camp-ground,  for  a  future  "  stockade."  Mean- 
while the  leaves  are  falling.  The  tree-limbs  are  swept 
by  raging  "  northers,"  that  now  blow  more  frequently, 
laden  with  rain  and  hail.  We  look  forward  to  a  dreary 
hibernation.  We  give  up  hopes  of  "exchange,"  and  in- 
voke patience  to  be  our  comforter.  There  is  little  oc- 
curring to  break  the  monotony  of  our  captivity.  We  get 
rebel  journals  from  Houston,  and  hear  the  gossip  of 
guards,  and  note  the  passage  of  trains  daily,  sometimes 
freighted  with  rebel  troops  and  artillery.  So  the  days 
creep  by.  Occasionally  we  are  visited  by  people  from 
Hempstead,  curious  to  have  a  look  at  "the  Yankees." 
Among  these  come  a  few  loyal  souls,  to  sympathize  with 
us,  as  friends,  and  whisper  low  words  of  encouragement. 
A  couple  of  kind  ladies  have  brought  little  comforts  for 
the  sick,  and  books  for  the  well.  To  one  of  these  ladies, 

Mrs.  E ,  of  Hempstead,  I  loaned  a  volume  of  my 

poems  which  I  had  preserved  in  my  trunk.  It  contained 
a  silken  marker,  wrought  with  the  "  old  flag  "  The  lady 
was  so  forgetful  of  rebel  surroundings,  as  to  open  my  un- 
fortunate volume  in  the  cars.  A  Confederate  officer,  be- 
hind her,  peeped  gallantly  over  her  shoulder,  and  read, 


278         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

perhaps,  some  sentiments  not  wholly  in  accordance  with 
Southern  predilections.  He  deemed  it  his  duty  to  "  re- 
port" the*  lady  to  General  Magruder ;  and,  the  same  night, 
many  wakeful  ones  of  our  camp  were  startled  by  the  ap- 
parition of  a  locomotive  crashing  past  at  midnight.  Next 
day  this  unusual  incident  became  a  subject  of  much  spe- 
culation. We  conjectured,  that  some  new  conspiracy 
might  have  been  discovered  at  Houston,  or.  that  con- 
scripts had  risen  in  some  rebel  camp.  Long  afterwards, 
I  learned  the  truth;  that  a  special  train  had  been  dis- 
patched from  Houston  to  Hempstead,  and  that  luckless 

Mrs.  E ,  arrested  by  a  provost-marshal's  order,  had 

been  taken  from  her  bed,  at  midnight,  and  carried  off  for 
examination  by  Gen.  Magruder;  her  husband  being  per- 
mitted, as  a  favor,  to  accompany  her.  Gen.  Magruder 
was  speedily  satisfied,  however,  either  that  my  volume  of 
poems  was  no  infernal  machine,  to  blow  up  the  Confede- 
racy, or  that  the  lady  who  borrowed  it  was  not  an  in- 
cendiary ;  for  he  ordered  Mrs.  E to  be  restored  to 

her  home,  and  my  book,  containing  the  "Union  marker," 
to  be  returned  to  its  "  Yankee"  author. 

* 

But  the  winter  days  have  come.  Loud  howls  the  "  nor- 
ther" over  our  barrack-roofs.  There  is  no  fuel  in  camp. 
Who  will  volunteer  as  "hewers  of  wood"  to-day  ?  cheerily 
sings  the  voice  of  Captain  Dillingham,  whilom  of  good 
ship  "  Morning  Light,"  and  now  chief  skipper  of  our 
prison  hulks.  Anon,  the  lumbering  ox-team,  dragging  a 
wagon,  and  urged  on  by  goading  whip  of  a  negro-driver, 
creeps  across  our  prison  lines,  and  we  fall  in,  guarded  by  a 
rebel  "  detail,"  to  our  work  of  "log-rolling."  Down  past 
the  well,  where  captive  tars  and  land-lubbers  are  waiting 
turns  to  draw  their  bucket-fuls  of  water  for  their  break- 
fast meal ;  shivering  wights,  snuffing  the  keen  north  wind 
that  whistles  through  their  ragged  garments;  slapping 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  279 

their  half-numbed  hands  together,  and  dancing  on  the 
cold  turf,  to  impart  some  circulation  to  the  chilled  blood 
in  their  naked  feet.  A  white  frost  clings  to  the  grass 
and  rimes  the  bushes  with  its  glittering  lace.  The  sun 
has  not  yet  climbed  those  greyish  clouds  that  race  ath- 
wart the  orient,  and  "it  is  a  nipping  and  an  eager  air" 
which  whips  them  seaward. 

Down  by  the  oaks  and  pecan-trees ;  under  moss-laden 
cypresses,  and  through  the  scrubby  mulberry  and  tea 
bushes ;  skirting  that  sombre  hillock  where  we  bury  our 
dead,  and  following  the  cattle-path  until  we  penetrate 
"the  timber."  Our  ox-cart  crushes  through  tangled 
vines  and  over  rotten  stumps,  wheels  round  a  fallen  ce- 
dar, and  is  headed  to  the  north  again ;  the  rebel  guards 
squat  here  and  there,  with  rifles  on  their  knees ;  while 
we,  with  ringing  axes,  make  short  work  of  Texan  timber- 
growth.  Down  surge  the  youthful  oaks;  in  scattered 
fragments  fly  the  limbs  and  trunks  of  sturdy  hickory ;  we 
emulate  the  woodmen  of  Virgilian  pastorals,  whose  toils 
are  scanned  in  schoolboy  couplets : 
"Trees  on  trees  o'erthrown, 
Fall  crackling  round  us,  and  the  forests  groan." 

Then  "comes  the  tug;"  to  "pack"  our  heavy  spoils ; 
huge  logs  uplifted  over  wheels,  and  piled  upon  the  wain ; 
such  loads  as  once  we  might  have  deemed  Titanic  bur- 
thens, now  tossed  lightly  on  the  towering  fuel-heap. 
Thereafter  we  march  prisonward,  to  barracks,  with  our 
appetites  well  sharpened  for  the  tough  beef  and  "corn- 
dodgers." 

In-doors  the  bunks  are  cold  and  damp.  This  keen  wind 
searches  through  their  gaping  crevices.  Our  cook-house, 
with  its  stoves,  allures  a  knot  of  icy-blooded  invalids  to 
cower  beneath  incumbent  pots  and  pans  of  grumbling 
stewards.  The  barracks  boast  no  stoves,  but  we  have 


280          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

digged  two  fire-places  below  our  flooring  line,  at  either 
wing,  and  pierced  some  apertures  in  the  wooden  roof,  to 
serve  as  smoke-holes.  So,  like  Hottentots  in  kraals,  or 
Esquimaux  in  snow-huts,  we  hibernate  beneath  continual 
clouds  of  pungent  vapor,  eye-blinding  and  lung-choking. 

Presently  the  whistle  of  the  north-wind  rises  to  a  howl 
around  the  barracks.  Thick  hurricanes,  driving  hills  of 
dust  and  banks  of  leaves  before  them,  scud  across  the 
railway  cuts.  Ere  long,  chill  drops  of  heavy  rain  plash 
down  upon  our  roofs.  The  Dry  Norther  has  passed,  and 
the  Wet  Norther  comes  roaring  in  his  wake,  with  the 
"noise  of  many  waters."  Plash,  splash,  dash!  The  yel- 
low sands  become  wide  pools  of  muddy  rain.  The  blast 
careers  through  bending  tree-tops,  wrenching  knotty 
boughs  away,  and ,  threshing  off  their  wet  leaves  as  the 
chaff  is  flailed  from  corn. 

"All  hands  to  caulk  ship!"  cries  a  watchful  man-of- 
war's-man,  who,  half  cook,  half  caterer,  chalks  his  number 
in  our  officers,  quarters.  Timely  call,  0  ancient  mariner  ! 
A  score  of  leaks  make  known  their  whereabouts  by  dis- 
mal percolations,  drenching  berths  and  blankets.  All  the 
roof,  of  shrunken  pine  boards,  soon  begins  to  ooze  with 
miry  moisture.  Rivulets  of  trickling  rain  wind  down 
from  ridge  poles.  Streams  descend  into  the  bunks  and 
through  their  soaking  contents.  Lakes  are  mapped  upon 
the  muddy  floor.  Meantime,  les  miserables  patch  up  ne- 
glected holes,  dam  off  incursive  water-courses,  mop  up 
embryo  ponds,  and  shelter  clothes  and  blankets  with 
what  canopies  they  can  command. 

Rain,  rain!  through  all  the  hours!  Our  hearth-fires 
smoulder  under  incubi  of  smoke.  Our  greasy  banquet- 
boards  of  pine,  that  occupy  the  space  between  opposing 
rows  of  bunks,  are  dripped  upon  incessantly.  We  snatch 
our  morsels  out  of  dishes  sprinkled  on  from  juicy  rafters. 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  281 

Corn-dodgers  are  dough,  our  beef  half  boiled,  our  soup 
soup-maigre.  So  we  shiver  through  the  daylight,  and  at 
night  crawl  into  damp  repose,  night-mared  by  water- 
sprites — all  grim-haired  Kuhleborns  and  no  sparkling 
Undines. 

Sorry  nights,  these ;  dim,  dismal,  dolorous  nights,  for 
wretched  ones  on  beds  of  pain  and  sickness.  I  hear  the 
poor  consumptive's  dying  cough ;  I  listen  to  the  broken 
words  of  fevered  sufferers ;  I  catch  the  feeble  sighs  of 
manhood  lapsing  into  infant  weakliness. 

How  wearisome  this  night-watch  with  the  sick,  and  yet 
how  rife  with  healthful  thought  to  one  who  ponders !  My 
single  candle  scarcely  penetrates  the  shadows  which  en- 
compass me.  The  barracks  are  profoundly  still.  All 
sleep,  except  the  dying. 

A  faint  voice  calls  for  water,  and  I  wet  the  lips  and 
forehead  of  a  youth,  who  has  confronted  danger  in  a  dozen 
battle-fields,  and  risen  from  the  ranks  to  wear  a  captain's 
sword.  I  doubt  if  naming  batteries  in  his  path  have  ever 
appalled  him;  yet  he  lies  here  now  as  tremulous  and 
fearful  as  a  girl.  I  scan  my  watch,  and  steal  from  cot  to 
cot,  with  medicine  to  be  administered  at  the  midnight 
hour.  I  lift  a  comrade  from  his  bed,  as  you  would  lift  a 
baby.  Three  months  ago  this  man  might  have  wrestled 
with  the  strongest  of  us.  Three  days  hence,  we  shall 
walk  behind  him,  to  the  prison-graves. 

I  step  out  of  our  barrack  door.  The  rain  has  ceased, 
but  there  is  yet  no  starlight.  The  wind  has  lulled.  The 
air  is  raw  and  clammy.  A  rebel  sentry  tramps  on  the 
dead-line. 


282          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER,    XXX. 

EXODUS. 

/  ,  »    , 

THE  monotone  of  prison-existence  was  broken  by  a  few 
outside  rumors  during  the  month  of  November.      We 
heard  of  Federal  operations  threatening  the  Texan  coast ; 
of  Union  plots  detected  at  Houston,  and  the  consequent 
arrest  of  sundry  implicated  citizens ;    among  others  of 
Dr.  Peebles,  and  Judge  Baldwin,  whose  loyalty  to  the 
"Old  Flag"  was  well  known  to  many  of  our  prisoners, 
with  whom  they  had  conversed  at  Houston.     We  learned, 
also,  that  some  of  our  escaped  comrades  had  arrived  safely 
within  Federal  lines  ;  and  we  received  occasional  encou- 
ragement regarding  a  new    cartel   being   agreed   upon. 
About  this  period,  two  privates  of  an  Illinois  regiment, 
the  brothers  Smith,  were  brought  to  Camp  Groce  in  irons, 
charged  with  an  aggravated  attempt  to  escape  ;  the  aggra- 
vation consisting  in  an  appropriation  of  horses  and  sad- 
dles, wherewith  the  young  adventurers  made  good  pro- 
gress from  Houston  to  San  Antone,  before  they  were  ar- 
rested.     Horse-stealing  is  a  capital  offence  against  the 
Texan  code  of  morals,  which  very  seldom  takes  cognizance 
of  murder  by  pistol  or  bowie-knife ;  so,  it  was  decided 
that  our  two  Smiths  should  be  handed  over  to  the  civil 
authorities  for  trial,  on  the  horse-theft  charge ;  with  a  san- 
guine expectation,  on  the  part  of  bitter  rebels,  that  they 
must  both  be  convicted  and  hanged.     The  two  boys  were 
kept  a  few  days  under  close  guard  at  Camp  Groce,  and 
then  dispatched  to  Houston,  to  stand  their  trial.     We 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  283 

felt,  of  course,  great  sympathy  for  them,  as  well  as  in- 
dignation at  the  rebel  commanders  who  had  transferred 
their  examination  to  a  civil  court,  in  which  their  lives 
were  sure  to  be  jeopardized  by  a  prejudiced  jury;  but 
we  were  powerless  to  interpose,  and  could  only  witness 
with  sorrow  the  departure  of  our  poor  comrades,  under  a 
strong  guard,  and  still  manacled,  for  embarkation  on  the 
cars. 

The  stockade  about  our  camp  was  now  rapidly  progres- 
sing; and  we  had  made  up  our  minds  to  close  incarcera- 
tion during  the  winter,  when,  on  the  16th  of  November, 
after  most  of  us  had  retired  to  our  bunks  for  the  night, 
Colonel  Burrell  came  to  our  barracks  from  his  own  quar- 
ters, in  a  separate  shed  with  Dr.  Sherfy,  and  electrified 
all  hearers  by  a  brief  and  eloquent  address  :  "  Gentle- 
men !".  (cried  this  bringer  of  "glad  tidings,")  "  I  have 
good  news  for  you !  We  are  all  to  be  paroled  and  sent 
to  our  homes  as  soon  as  the  papers  can  be  made  out!" 
It  may  easily  be  conceived  that  this  announcement  caused 
a  general  turning-out  of  slumbering  prisoners.  In  a  few 
moments  the  line  of  barracks  was  "  all  alive"  with  excite- 
ment. Officers  embraced  each  other,  exchanging  mutual 
hopes  and  gratulations ;  Colonel  Burrell  traversed  the 
men's  quarters,  repeating  his  little  "speech"  to  hilarious 
audiences ;  cheers  and  shouts  made  every  shed-roof  ring ; 
bonfires  were  lit,  and  the  sailors  sung  patriotic  songs  till 
long  after  midnight.  Very  little  slumber  visited  Camp 
Groce  that  joyous  night.  But  on  the  next  morning  our 
happiness  was  somewhat  tempered  by  supplementary  ad- 
vices. We  were  assured  that  the  paroling  officer  might 
be  expected  immediately,  but  that  we  should  be  obliged 
to  march  several  hundred  miles  to  Shreveport,  in  Upper 
Louisiana,  and  there  descend  the  Red  River.  No  trans- 
portation could  be  provided  for  baggage.  Hence,  we 


284         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

should  be  able  to-  carry  only  the  garments  that  we  might 
wear,  and  such  other  "  traps,"  as  we  could  pack  in  bags 
or  knapsacks.  We  were  counseled  by  the  camp-com- 
mandant to  sell  off  whatever  property  we  possessed,  in 
order  to  free  ourselves  of  all  incumbrance  upon  the  march. 
But  special  orders  were  now  reported  in  favor  of  four 
officers,  survivors  of  the  Harriet  Lane's  disaster;  Lieut.  J. 
A.  Hannam,  acting-master;  Lieut.  C.  H.  Hamilton,  who 
had  been  wounded;  and  two  engineers,  Lieuts.  Plunkett 
and  Stone.  These  gentlemen  were  to  be  forwarded  to 
Shreveport  by  stage,  and  were  to  set  out  immediately. 
With  the  departure  of  Lieuts.  Stone  and  Plunkett,  who 
belonged  to  my  mess,  I  was  left  alone;  my  kind  mess- 
mate, Lieut.  Hayes,  having  been  called  away  by  death. 
Another  modification  of  the  "  exchange  news"  now  dam- 
pened our  hopes  to  some  extent;  the  paroling-officer  in- 
forming us  that  his  orders  directed  him  to  parole  only 
enlisted  men.  We  began  to  entertain  doubts  regarding 
a  speedy  liberation. 

One  of  our '  citizen-prisoners,  Mr.  Parse,  died  on  the 
23d  of  November.  He  was  an  elderly  man,  who  had  kept 
the  hotel  at  Brashear.  He  had  been  a  quiet,  uncomplain- 
ing sufferer,  during  most  of  the  time  since  our  arrival  at 
Camp  Groce. 

News  of  the  capture  of  Point  Isabel  and  Aransas  Pass, 
by  a  Federal  force  which  had  landed  on  the  coast  of 
Southern  Texas,  about  the  close  of  this  month,  gave  us 
some  indication  as  to  the  progress  of  American  arms. 

Our  sick-list  remained  heavy;  though  diminished  some- 
what by  the  prospect  of  parole  among  the  men.  We  be- 
gan to  experience  much  hardship  in  our  barracks,  from 
excessive  cold ;  and  were  obliged  to  keep  our  fire-holes 
heaped  with  burning  wood,  which  necessitated  the  endu- 
rance of  smoke  in  stifling  fumes.  Meantime,  daily,  our 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  285 

camp  presented  an  appearance  of  great  commercial  ac- 
tivity. The  prospect  of  a  long  march,  with  no  wagons, 
had  stimulated  a  desire  to  rid  ourselves  of  all  "  impedi- 
menta," and  the  rebel  guards,  with  "outside  customers," 
were  anxious  to  relieve  the  "Yankees"  of  any  superfluous 
clothing  or  other  articles.  Hence  the  guard-line  became 
a  sort  of  "Eialto,"  on  one  side  whereof  our  sailors  and 
soldiers  displayed  their  "goods"  upon  the  sand,  while 
rebels  clustered  eagerly  on  the  other,  to  cheapen  and  buy 
at  "  bargains"  whatever  was  exposed  for  sala.  I  amused 
myself  often  in  watching  the  varied  groups  engaged  in 
these  fancy-fair  and  rag-mart  operations.  Military  and 
naval  clothing,  shirts,  trowsers,  gloves,  stockings,  boots, 
caps,  needles,  pins,  thread,  silk;  with  all  kinds  of  knick- 
nacks,were  ranged  upon  handkerchiefs  along  the  line,  the 
traders  of  each  side  on  their  haunches,  buying  and  selling, 
while  a  guard,  with  his  musket  on  both  shoulders,  sauntered 
up  and  down  between  the  groups  ;  occasionally  making  a 
bid  himself,  when  some  tempting  Yankee  "trick"  attracted 
his  attention.  Competition  brought  out  quantities  of  these 
"tricks,"  from  Yankee  trunks,  valises,  knapsacks,  and 
bundles;  and  the  market  fluctuated  like  all  markets. 
Sly  "bulls"  and  "bears"  were  pitted  on  that  guard-line, 
as  on  Wall  or  State  street.  The  rebels,  though  coveting 
all  our  "tricks,"  were  disposed  to  "fight  shy,"  as  our 
boys  said ;  knowing  that  if  an  order  to  inarch  should  ar- 
rive suddenly,  every  thing  for  sale  must  be  sacrificed. 
Our  Federal  traders,  on  their  side,  affected  corresponding 
"stiffness,"  and  "held  on"  for  good  prices.  But  the 
principal  business  soon  became  concentrated  in  the  hands 
of  a  "  heavy  broker."  Sergeant  Wentworth,  of  the  42d 
Regiment,  a  shrewd  and  intelligent  "Yankee,"  of  the 
Massachusetts  species,  whose  vocal  abilities,  and  powers 
of  entertainment  generally,  had  lightened  many  a  weary 


286          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

prison-hour,  became,  about  this  time,  the  very  Mercury  of 
merchandizing.  Armed  with  a  "special  parole,"  which 
his  "sweet  charming"  had  obtained  from  Lit.  Col.  Barnes, 
the  camp-commandant  at  this  time,  our  bold  Sergeant 
passed  freely  in  and  out  of  the  guard-lines,  lunching  with 
rebel  guards  and  officers,  booking  orders  for  "  Yankee 
goods,"  selling  on  commission,  with  a  handsome  per  cent, 
profit,  and  ultimately  "  commanding  the  market",  to  the 
general  convenience  of  prisoners  and  no  little  profit  to 
himself  pecuniarily.  Thousands  of  dollars,  in  Confederate 
currency,  changed  hands  under  his  skilful  prestidigitation, 
and,  before  the  ides  of  December,  our  captive  officers  and 
men  discovered  themselves  lightened  of  the  greater  por- 
tion of  such  little  property  as  they  had  saved  from  previ- 
ous forays. 

Orders  arrived  to  pack  for  the  march,  about  December 
7th ;  at  which  time  I  found  myself  prostrated  by  an 
attack  of  low  fever  that  had  been,  during  some  weeks, 
threatening  me.  I  had  already  made  preparations  for 
travel,  in  getting  the  promise  of  a  pony,  at  the  current 
price  of  three  hundred  dollars  in  confederate  funds,  or 
sixty  dollars  in  gold.  I  had  secured  a  bridle,  and  was 
in  moderate  hope  to  get  a  saddle ;  and  had  been  relieved, 
through  Sergeant  Wentworth,  of  trunks -and  other  "plun- 
der," as  a  western  man  calls  his  baggage.  But,  when 
the  day  arrived  for  marching,  I  was  lying,  nearly  deliri- 
ous with  pain  and  fever,  on  a  cot  in  the  shed  which  had 
been  occupied  by  the  citizens.  Prostrated  and  helpless, 
my  nerves  unnaturally  excited  by  Dover's  powders,  my 
stomach  scarified  from  "heroic"  doses  of  "  Croton  oil," 
I  marked,  with  bewildered  sense,  the  dispositions  for  de- 
parture, and  was  pronounced  by  the  Confederate  surgeon 
to  be  unable  to  travel,  even  in  a  carriage,  which  had  been 
chartered  by  Colonel  Burrell,  and  wherein  a  place  had 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  287 

been  secured  for  me.  One  by  one,  my  fellow-officers 
seemed  to  fade  into  obscurity,  as  the  fever  grew  more 
intense  ;  and  at  last,  when  Colonel  Nott  stooped  over  my 
cot,  in  parting,  and  remarked  that  he  was  compelled  to 
leave  me,  now,  as  I  had  been  obliged  to  leave  him,  at 
Tigerville — on  a  sick  bed — I  scarcely  knew  the  purport 
of  his  words,  and  shortly  afterwards  sank  back  into  an 
utter  unconsciousness  of  aught  beyond  the  fact  of  suffer- 
ing pain. 

Meanwhile,  the  march  of  our  officers,  and  of  the  paroled 
enlisted  men,  proceeded  under  rebel  orders.  The  sol- 
diers and  sailors  started  in  advance,  some  forty  hours, 
under  a  strong  guard  of  cavalry;  the  officers  and  citizens 
following,  under  another  escort,  with  a  brace  of  army 
wagons  provided  by  the  Confederates,  and  two  farm- 
wagons  hired  by  those  who  still  held  property  in  "bag- 
gage." Five  officers  were  mounted  on  hired  mules,  and 
four  more,  with  Stratton  and  his  wife,  rode  in  the  hired 
coach.  On  the  first  day  of  travel,  they  proceeded  fourteen 
miles,  and  accomplished  the  distance  to  Anderson,  nearly 
fifty  miles,  in  three  days.  They  continued  at  an  increased 
average  of  miles,  per  diem,  keeping  the  highway,  but  en- 
camping generally  outside  of  towns  :  :n  this  manner  pas- 
sing through  Huntsville,  crossing  the  Trinity  river,  and 
reaching  successively  the  Texan  towns  of  Crockett,  Pal- 
estine, Kickapoo,  and  Tyler.  Camp  Ford,  the  place  of 
their  destination,  as  it  appeared,  was  gained  after  about 
twelve  days'  marching  ;  and,  just  before  reaching  it,  they 
overtook  and  bade  farewell  to  our  enlisted  men,  who, 
with  light  hearts  and  light  packs,  were  pursuing  their 
road  to  Shreveport,  and,  as  they  fondly  anticipated,  at 
that  time,  to  freedom. 

At  Camp  Ford,  our  Camp  Groce  exiles  received  a 
warm  greeting  from  the  sixty  five  Federal  prisoners  who 


288          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

were  there  dwelling  in  huts,  enclosed  by  a 'high  stockade 
of  split  pine  timber.  Forty-five  men,  under  one  Captain 
Davis,  constituted  the  rebel  guard.  At  this  post,  the 
citizen  Stratton  was  paroled  and  permitted  to  proceed 
with  his  wife  to  Shreveport.  Winter  now  began  to  make 
itself  felt,  in  fierce  Northers,  accompanied  by  snow,  sleet, 
and  rain,  and  the  task  of  making  themselves  comfortable, 
by  building  new  huts  or  repairing  old  ones,  became  an 
arduous  one  to  our  weakened  and  despondent  emigrant 
prisoners.  Leaving  them  for  a  space,  at  Camp  Ford,  1 
return  to  my  personal  fortunes. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  289 


CHAPTER     XXXI. 

HEMPSTEAD  HOSPITAL. 

LIFTED  from  the  desolation  of  our  evacuated  quarters 
at  Camp  Groce,  I  am  conveyed  to  the  Confederate  mili- 
tary hospital,  at  Hempstead.  Here  my  symptoms  speedily 
develope  into  an  attack  of  latent  Typhoid;  and  I  am 
placed  in  a  large  room,  containing  twenty  beds,  occupied 
by  other  patients  in  low  stages  of  sickness.  During  sev- 
eral days  I  remain  in  a  very  precarious  condition,  and 
my  sufferings  are  of  the  most  acute  nature.  For  days  and 
nights  alternating  between  hopes  of  life  and  fantasies  of 
death,  I  at  length,  under  judicious  treatment,  emerge 
from  immediate  peril,  and  gradually  struggle  out  of  the 
vague  idea  of  "life  in  death"  characterizing  this  type  of 
febrile  disorder.  At  length  the  fever  is  declared  broken. 
Slowly  I  resume  my  comprehension  of  surrounding  things. 
I  dream,  one  morning,  that  I  am  FREE  ;  that  I  am  in  my 
camp,  and  stand  before  my  regiment  at  dress-parade.  The 
banners  gleam;  drums  roll;  the  ranks  divide  in  "open 
order;"  the  men  and  officers  "present  arms  !"  My  eyes, 
meantime,  are  fixed  upon  the  central  flag  of  "stars  and 
stripes."  All  other  objects  fade  to  indistinctness,  while 
that  flag  grows  larger  in  my  sight,  still  larger,  till  it  seems 
to  fill  the  sky  from  zenith  to  horizon — till  the  very  at- 
mosphere appears  a  luminous  medium  of  stars  and  glit- 
tering stripes,  encompassing  me.  I  awake  from  this  ce- 
lestial vagary,  but  still  the  stellar  imagery  fills  my  eyes. 
At  length,  by  slow  degrees,  it  takes  a  definite  shape — no 


290          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

heaven-absorbing  flag,  indeed,  but,  nevertheless,  the  old, 
familiar  emblem  of  our  Union ;  in  an  inch -square  painted 
brooch,  upon  the  bosom  of  a  female  at  my  bed-side. 

For  a  momemt  I  forget  that  I  am  in  a  rebel  prison ; 
that  the  cots  surrounding  me  are  occupied  by  men  who 
betrayed  and  have  stricken  down  our  .glorious  banner. 
My  eyes  begin  to  overflow;  I  try  to  lift  my  feeble  hand 
in  salutation  of  that  symbol  of  my  country;  I  move  my 
lips  to  bless  it ;  then  lapse  into  bewilderment,  and  sink 
back,  fainting,  on  my  bed  of  straw. 

Next  day  I  learn  that  the  lady  visiting  my  cot  was  the 
hospital  matron,  a  Northern  woman,  holding  her  position 
simply  because  she  is  necessary  to  the  rebels.  Occupy- 
ing the  premises  as  her  dwelling  before  the  government 
appropriated  them  for  hospital  purposes,  she  was  solicited 
to  remain  as  a  female  superintendent,  though  known  for 
firm  attachment  to  her  people  in  the  Northern  states. 
She  performs  her  duties  as  a  Christian  woman,  caring  for 
the  sick  and  wounded,  with  an  ever-active  zeal,  and  in  a 
spirit  of  kindliness  that  is  worth  more  than  medicine. 
She  claims  one  privilege  only  as  her  own ;  to  wear  the 
brooch  that  I  had  seen  upon  her  breast ;  that  plain  en- 
amelled impress  of  the  "  Stars  and  Stripes"  which,  gleam- 
ing over  the  poor  prisoner's  bed,  had  been  transfigured 
through  his  dream  and  made  to  fill  the  heavens  of  sleep 
with  rays  of  loyal  glory.  She  wears  that  emblem  of  her 
country  openly  before  the  surgeons ;  and  I  well  believe 
that  many  a  dying  Texan,  loyal  at  his  heart,  although 
compelled  to  march  in  treason's  ranks,  has  had  his  suffer- 
ing soothed,  his  soul  made  glad,  as  mine  was,  by  the 
sight  of  that  "  old  flag"  above  his  pillow,  to  bless  his  clos- 
ing eyes  and  give  his  parting  soul  the  hope  that  God 
would  pardon  a  repentant  rebel. 

I  thought  it  marvellous  at  this  time  that  such  an  orna- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  291 

ment  should  be  permitted  to  be  worn  by  any  person  in 
the  Texan  country;  but  I  learned  some  stranger  facts 
than  even  this,  before  I  left  the  hospital.  Of  course,  an 
order  from  the  surgeon  might  oblige  the  matron  to  con- 
ceal her  brooch,  but  she  would  have  resented  it  at  once 
by  resignation  of  her  charge,  and  this  they  cared  not  to 
provoke.  They  rather  chose  to-  ignore  the  harmless 
"  whim,"  though,  doubtless,  had  a  man  presumed  to  "show 
his  colors"  thus,  the  nearest  "black-jack"  would  have  had 
him  dangling  from  it. 

I  said  this  worthy  matron  was  a  faithful  ministrant  to 
rebel  sick ;  but  that  was  in  her  line  of  duty,  though  im- 
pressed with  every  mark  of  kindness.  It  was  easy  to  re- 
mark her  deeper  interest  in  Federal  prisoners,  as  I  had 
occasion  to  acknowledge  for  myself.  There  were  two 
Northerners  with  me — a  soldier  and  a  sailor  boy.  The 
first,  a  Massachusetts  man,  sank  very  soon;  the  other 
lingered  several  weeks.  Poor  lad!  I  crawled  out  of  my 
cot,  at  his  request,  to  write  his  little  will,  bequeathing 
some  few  garments  to  the  nurses,  desiring  thathis  mother's 
likeness  should  be  sent  back  to  "God's  country!"  as  he 
fondly  called  the  North,  and  praying  that  her  parting 
present,  a  pocket  Bible,  might  be  buried  with  him,  on  his 
breast. 

Poor  Tweedy !  Only  twenty  years  of  age,  he  has  yet 
served  through  all  the  war — two  years  a  soldier  and  the 
residue  a  gun-boat  boy ;  a  light-hearted  youth,  with  few 
transgressions  on  the  logbook  of  his  simple  life.  He  is  a 
living  shadow,  lying  on  his  cot,  from  which  the  nurses  are 
obliged  to  lift  him  ;  for  he  cannot  even  turn  without  as- 
sistance. These  rude  nurses  have  taken  a  fancy  to  the 
"little  Yankee,"  as  they  call  him,  and  they  humor  him  as 
if  he  were  a  child.  He  has  "willed"  his  little  "kit"  of 
clothing  to  them,  to  be  distributed  after  his  death. 


292  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

" Tweedy,"  I  say  to  him,  "are  you  prepared  to  die?" 

"  If  it's  the  will  of  God,"  answers  the  poor  boy,  with 
quivering  lip;  ."but  I'm  young  yet.  It's  hard  to  go  !" 

He  closes  his  eyes  awhile,  remaining  silent;  then 
whispers,  feebly,  "Do  you  think  I'll  be  dying  for  my 
country  if  I  die  in  a  hospital,  sir  ?M 

"  Surely  you  will,  my  boy,"  I  reply ;  "  as  surely  as  if 
you  fell  in  battle." 

"I  think  I  suffer  as  much,"  he  rejoins — in  a  low  tone. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  "I  shall  see  my  mother,  sir,  if  it's 
the  will  of  God." 

One  morning  I  hear  Tweedy's  voice  just  after  I  awake. 
He  is  talking  with  the  matron,  who  sits  by  his  cot.  I  hear 
her  ask  him  about  his  family,  and  he  tells  her  thnt  he  has 
been  in  the  navy  a  year,  and  that  his  mother  died  four 
months  after  his  enlistment. 

'•  You  have  neither  father  nor  mother  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am,"  answers  Tweedy  ;  "  and  my  sister  is 
married,  so  she  doesn't  belong  to  me  any  more.  Pm  all 
alone  in  the  world,  ma'am." 

I  feel  my  eyes  moisten,  as  the  sailor  boy's  pallid  lips 
murmur  these  simple  words ;  but  I  am  not  prepared  for 
the  burst  of  grief  which  comes  from  the  hospital  matron. 
The  kind  woman  seems  literally  to  "break  down"  with 
her  feelings.  She  bows  herself  over  the  dying  "  Yankee," 
and  sobs  with  such  vehement  grief  as  I  have  seldom  seen 
exhibited  at  the  bed  of  death.  "  Poor  child  !  poor  child!  " 
is  all  I  can  distinguish,  in  the  intervals  of  her  sighs  and 
floods  of  tears. 

It  is  a  touching  and  curious  spectacle  to  me,  a  prisoner : 
this  Northern  widow  weeping  over  a  Northern  orphan. 
Stranger  to  her,  his  only  claim  is,  that  he  is  motherless. 
How  much  of  long  pent  sorrow  for  her  own  beloved 
dead ;  how  much  of  yearning  for  her  native  land  beyond 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  293 

the  Mississippi;  how  many  thoughts,  fears,  hopes,  bound 
up  with  loyalty  and  Union,  may  have  mingled  with  this 
Northern  matron's  tears  and  sobs. — He  only  knows  who 
reads  all  bosom  secrets.  I  turned  my  forehead  to  the 
wall,  while  one  who  occupied  the  nearest  cot — a  ranger 
of  Tom  Green's  command — called  softly  over  to  me,  "She's 
got  a  mother's  feelings  for  that  little  Yankee  !" 

May  heaven  take  sweet  account  of  all  such  tender 
hearts  !  The  "  little  Yankee"  sailor  boy  is  dead.  I  gave 
his  Bible  to  the  nurse,  to  be  deposited  within  his  coffin, 
and  I  placed  a  shred  of  his  brown  hair  within  the  cover 
of  his  mother's  ambrotype,  to  be  transmitted  to  a  sister 
in  New  York.  Let  them  be  comforted,  who  loved  the  lad. 
His  latest  hours  were  soothed  by  kindly  cares,  and  his 
last  breath  was  drawn  so  peacefully  that  none  might  say 
when  his  young  soul  passed  upward. 

A  solitary  tallow  candle,  fixed  in  an  old  tin  sconce  and 
hung  upon  a  post,  throws  a  feeble  glimmer  through  the 
ward-room,  where  I  occupy  a  cot  among  twenty  others, 
each  the  bed  of  suffering.  December  winds  howl  savagely 
around  the  hospital — a  large  old  building,  once  the  prin- 
cipal hotel  of  Hempstead.  A  glazed  door  at  my  head, 
loose-framed  and  creviced,  gives  ingress  to  the  chill  blast, 
which,  after  whistling  over  the  verandah,  seems  to  moan 
at  this  casement  like  a  dying  man.  But  there  are  real 
moans  of  dying  men  within.  A  miserable  conscript  lies 
some  feet  from  me,  in  mortal  agony.  He  has  drawn  his 
knees  to  his  chin,  and  is  rocking  up  and  down,  muttering 
incoherent  words,  and  occasionally  venting  shrieks  that 
make  our  blood  curdle  to  hear.  This  conscript  has  been 
dying — so  the  doctors  tell  us — during  forty  hours.  "  He 
cannot  last  till  morning  !"  they  say,  and,  God  forgive  us, 
we  hear  the  announcement  with  grim  satisfaction;  for  the 


294          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

poor  man's  constant  cries  and  frenzied  utterances  have 
driven  sleep  from  us  by  night  and  day.  It  may  be  that 
remorse  is  mingled  with  delirium  in  this  case  ;  for  the 
man  rehearses,  in  his  fevered  way,  continual  memories  of 
fights  and  struggles.  "  Don't  murder  me  !"  he  implores. 
"  Don't  hang  me  yet!"  and  then  calls  men  and  women  by 
their  Christian  names — "  O  save  me !  save  me !" — "  Give 
me  a  knife — a  knife !" 

In  yonder  corner  a  Texan  soldier,  of  Waul's  Legion,  is 
passing  away.  Three  days  ago,  I  heard  him  dictating  a 
letter  to  his  wife.  He  yearns  to  see  her  "and  the  chil- 
dren," before  he  dies;  watching  the  door  with  fixed  gaze, 
his  eyes  glassy  and  eager.  The  nurse  approaches  to  ad- 
minister a  powder  or  draught.  The  patient  mechanically 
swallows,  and  then  in  a  piercing  whisper  asks,  "  Do  you 
reckon  she'll  come  ? — Do  you  reckon  I'll  live  jes'  to  see 
her?"  Poor  fellow  !  he  passes  away  in  a  day  or  two,  his 
wife's  name  the  last  upon  his  lips ;  and  a  letter,  arriving 
afterwards,  informs  our  surgeon  that  the  widow  is  lying 
near  to  death.  Heaven  help  the  orphans  of  this  poor 
Texan  soldier,  sacrificed,  like  his  deluded  comrades,  up- 
on the  bloody  altar  of  treason,  which  he  hated ;  for  he 
was  a  "  Sam  Houston  man"  in  old  times,  and  voted  against 
secession. 

The  crazy  soldier  near  me  dies  at  last,  and  is  carried 
out  on  his  mattress,  to  be  stripped  and  placed  in  a  pine 
box,  rattled  away  in  a  lumber-wagon  by  mules,  under 
whip  of  omnipresent  "negro,"  and  dumped  finally  among 
hundreds  of  other  bodies  of  poor  soldiers,  in  the  populous 
grave-yard  devoted  to  hospital  victims.  No  prayers  to 
be  said;  no  hymns  to  be  sung!  but  clay  to  clay,  as  you 
toss  out  ashes  on  your  dust  heap 

Just  after  our  gaunt  tallow  candle  is  lighted  and  hung 
up,  I  hear  a  monotonous  sound  of  talk  from  the  wooden 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  295 

settee  near  our  stove.  A  Baptist  conscript,  detailed  as 
a  nurse,  is  mooting  doctrinal  questions  with  old  Doctor 
Eastman,  the  Ward  Master^-a  man  of  weighty  arguments 
and  deep  quotations.  These  Texan  conscripts  and  militia 
men  are  much  addicted  to  ethical  discussions.  I  have 
heard  a  brace  of  them  disputing  by  the  hour  on  "  infant 
baptism,"  "free  grace,"  and  other  dogmas.  Old  Doctor 
Eastman  assumes  to  have  the  power  of  Boanerges  in  de- 
bate upon  religious  points.  He  tells  us  that  his  "spe- 
cialities" are — 1st,  consummate  knowledge  of  the  science 
of  medicine;  and,  2d,  a  perfect  comprehension  of  the 
Scriptures.  Professional  jealousy  prevents  a  proper  re- 
cognition of  the  first  of  these  "  good  gifts,"  so  that  he  is 
only  ward  master,  instead  of  being  chief  surgeon.  As 
for  the  other  gift,  he  displays  it  in  nightly  fulminations 
of  spiritual  thunder  which  confound  both  doctors  and 
patients. 

"  You  see — I  know  all  about  this  war,  and  how  it's  goin' 
to  end,"  he  drawls,  in  his  deliberate  manner,  while  the 
nurse,  a  big-boned  bee-hunter,  opens  his  mouth  to  swal- 
low every  word  of  inspiration. 

"I'd  like  right  smart  to  h'ar  tell  about  that  ar  p'int," 
says  the  nurse. 

"  S'arch  the  Proverbs  of  'Zekiel,  and  read  Daniel  and 
Revelations,"  pursues  Doctor  Eastman.  "Alexander 
the  Great  was  the  Little  Horn.  You  see  there's  to  be 
periods,  you  understand — a  time,  and  times,  and  half  a 
time.  That's  Scripter  '.—Understand  ?" 

"  Sartin !"  says  the  nurse,  very  much  overpowered. 

"  The  kingdom  of  Alexander  was  one  time,  and  Napo- 
leon Bonaparty's  empire  was  another  time — you  under- 
stand ?" 

The  nurse  appeared  quiet  overwhelmed,  and  could  only 
answer :  "  Edzactly — 'iiuther  time  !" 


296  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

"Well,  now,  I'll  make  it  perfectly  cl'ar,  so  as  a  child 
can  understand  it.  Bonaparty  ended  the  'times,'  and 
now  we're  in  '  half-a-time.'  This  war  is  goin'  to  last  till 
1866,  three  years  longer,  and  then  there's  to  be  a  gineral 
war  ! — you  understand  ?" 

"Sartin!"  says  the  bee-hunter;  "a  gineral  war!  All 
the  ginerals  is  a-goin'  in  to  fight." 

"  No,  not  that.  I  mean  a  gineral  war — a  universal 
war — in  Europe  and  Ameriky.  I'm  not  quite  cl'ar  where 
the  great  battle  of  Armageddon  is  to  be  fought.  Some- 
times I  think  it's  round  the  city  o'  Washington,  and  then 
ag'in  I  reckon  it's  to  be  in  Italy.  The  blood,  you  know, 
is  to  flow  stirrup-deep  for  sixhund'ed  furlongs,  and  that's 
about  the  space  round  the  great  city  of  Rome — old  Ba- 
bylon, 'cordin  to  Scripter.  You  understand  ?" 

"  Clar  as  a  bee-gum  !"  asserts  the  nurse,  professionally  ; 
and  Doctor  Eastman  goes  on  with  his  lucid  interpreta- 
tions, till  they  drive  me  to  sleep,  and  wake  me  up  again, 
three  hours  later. 

This  old  "  expert"  has  written  several  books  upon  me- 
dicine, which  are  familiar  in  Western  New  York  and 
in  Illinois  and  Ohio.  He  has  a  ponderous  manuscript 
volume  of  personal  revelations,  though  he  scoffs  at  spirit- 
ualism. This  manuscript  is  filled  with  prophecies  of  his 
own,  concerning  the  second  Advent,  which  he  expects  to 
see,  and  the  New  Jerusalem,  whereof  he  intends  to  be 
a  citizen,  reserving,  perhaps,  the  Southern  right  of  "se- 
cession." He  is  keeping  his  book  to  print  in  the  "good 
time  coming,"  as  publishers  of  such  light  literature  are 
now  very  scarce  in  Texas.  Nevertheless,  he  tells  us 
complacently  that  the  work  will  probably  revolutionize 
religious  opinions  throughout  Christendom,  and  threatens 
some  day,  when  I  get  strong  enough  to  bear  it,  to  bring 
down  a  few  hundred  pages  and  read  them  to  me. 


DEPAETMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  297 

Among  the  rebel  convalescents  in  hospital  is  a  young 
man,  twenty-eight  years  old,  named  Brock,  a  Missourian, 
who  belonged  to  Sibley's  brigade.  Six  years  ago  he  quar- 
relled with  and  shot  or  stabbed  a  cousin  of  his,  in  St. 
Louis,  and  was  forced  to  leave  his  home,  to  escape  trial 
for  the  crime.  The  breaking  out  of  the  rebellion  found 
him  on  the  Mexican  frontier,  and  he  soon  afterwards  en- 
listed in  a  partisan  troop,  commanded  by  one  Damrell,  if 
I  recollect  aright — a  Yankee  renegade. 

Damrell  was  a  guerilla  of  the  Quantrell  stamp,  odious 
to  friends  and  hideous  to  foes.  He  had  picked  up  more 
than  fifty  reckless  followers,  numbering  among  them  horse 
thieves,  smugglers,  and  outlaws  of  the  border.  They 
ranged  between  San  Antone  and  Austin  City,  were  well- 
mounted  and  armed,  and  signalized  themselves  by  hunt- 
ing down  suspected  Unionists.  Prowling  around  settle- 
ments and  attacking  isolated  ranches,  they  scrupled  not 
to  murder  and  plunder  wherever  the  weakness  or  unpo- 
pularity of  victims  promised  them  impunity.  One  of 
DamrelPs  gang,  known  as  a  dissipated  and  desperate  man, 
was  accused  of  murdering  his  own  brother,  by  shooting 
him  through  an  open  window  of  his  house,  as  he  sat  by 
the  fire,  fiddling,  with  his  wife  next  to  him  and  his  child- 
ren playing  before  them.  The  assassin  was  tracked 
through  the  timber  by  a  squad  of  neighbors  and  the  trail 
followed  up  to  a  remote  ranche,  where  Luther  (this  was 
the  guerilla's  name)  had  put  up  for  the  night.  The  pur- 
suers arrested  him,  but  he  denied  all  knowledge  of  the 
affair.  It  was  impossible  to  fix  the  deed  upon  him,  though 
all  believed  him  guilty,  knowing  that  he  had  quarrelled 
with  his  brother  six  months  before  They  contented 
themselves  with  warning  Luther  to  leave  Travis  county 
within  twenty-four  hours  and  never  return.  He  promised 
to  do  so,  and  was  permitted  to  ride  off.  That  very  night 


298          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

the  villain  was  detected  in  entering  the  house  of  his  slain 
brother,  by  means  of  an  opening  he  had  made  in  the  roof. 
He  had  climbed  upon  an  ox-cart  to  the  chimney,  which, 
as  is  the  case  with  log-houses  generally,  was  built  out- 
side. Seized  by  one  of  the  neighbors,  who  had  tracked 
him  in  the  morning,  he  attempted  to  lie  himself  out  of 
trouble  by  asserting  that  he  had  some  specie  concealed 
in  the  loft.  A  few  other  neighbors  arrived,  however,  and 
next  morning  Luther  was  discovered  dangling  from  a 
pecan-tree  in  front  of  the  gate.  Nobody  professed  to 
know  how  he  came  there,  and  no  questions  were  asked 
or  answered  about  the  matter. 

When  Damrell,  the  guerrilla,  heard  of  this  piece  of 
summary  justice,  he  swore  vengeance.  Before  a  month 
passed,  several  citizens,  never  suspected  of  Unionism, 
were  shot  on  the  highway,  and  the  houses  and  barns  of 
others  set  on  fire.  These  outrages  were  laid  to  the  guer- 
rillas, and  Captain  Hunter,  of  the  Texan  Hangers,  was 
bold  enough  to  charge  Damrell  with  the  fact.  The  parti- 
san leader  heard  of  it,  and  gave  out  that  he  would  have 
satisfaction  of  Hunter.  In  the  course  of  a  week  he  made 
several  threats,  and  at  last  rode  into  Captain  Hunter's 
camp,  his  person  bristling  all  over  with  weapons.  He  had 
a  six-shooter  stuck  in  each  of  his  riding-boots,  two  in  his 
holsters,  one  in  his  belt,  and  carried  one  in  his  bridle 
hand.  Besides  these,  a  bowie-knife  was  at  his  side,  and 
a  double-barrelled  shot-gun  lay  across  his  saddle. 

Captain  Hunter  was  on  foot,  when  Damrell  rode  up  and 
demanded,  with  a  furious  oath,  what  the  Ranger  had  said 
about  him.  Hunter  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  ap- 
parently to  reply,  but  instead  of  doing  so,  he  dashed  its 
lighted  bowl  at  the  head  of  Damrell's  horse,  causing  the 
animal  to  rear.  This  allowed  him  time  to  draw  a  pistol, 
with  which  he  shot  the  guerrilla  captain  through  his  groin. 


bEPAETMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  299 

Damrell  fell  from  the  saddle  and  was  dragged  several 
rods  on  the  ground.     He  never  spoke  again. 

Another  member  of  the  gang  assaulted  Hunter,  two 
days  after  this,  and  fired  two  shots  at  him.  The  Hanger 
then  took  deliberate  aim  and  killed  the  fellow. 

This  is  life — or  death — in  Texas ! 

So  much  for  Major  Hunter.  I  return  to  Brock,  who 
had  been  one  of  Damrell's  band,  subsequently  a  ranger 
under  Hunter,  and  afterwards  a  soldier  of  Sibley's  bri- 
gade. He  was  rather  an  intelligent  young  man,  and  ap- 
parently of  good  judgment,  though  uneducated ;  but  there 
was  a  wolfish  expression  in  his  eyes  that  indicated  the 
evil  of  his  disposition.  Muscular  and  well-proportioned, 
his  complexion  darkened  by  exposure,  his  hair  black, 
glossy,  and  redundant,  he  was  a  fair  type  of  the  conven- 
tional br"avo  or  dashing  guerilla. 

Brock  had  been  present  at  the  battle  of  Fort  Craig, 
where  the  Yalverde  Battery  was  captured  from  our  sol- 
diers, and  where  Lieut.  Alexander  McRae  was  slain.  That 
battle  lasted  all  day,  and  was  far  more  disastrous  to  rebel 
life  and  limb  than  our  official  accounts  have  ever  been  able 
to  report.  Brock  related  to  me  how  the  gallant  McRae 
stood  to  his  gun. 

"  We  just  wanted  to  save  that  ar'  Fed,,"  said  the  Ranger. 
"  He  fou't  like  a  painter.  It  warn't  no  use ;  but  he  toed 
the  line  till  all  wor  blue,  Yank !  He  never  guv  in.  He 
worcl'ar  blood!" 

I  inquired  if  McRae  had  been  offered  any  terms  before 
surrender. 

"  Surrender !"  echoed  the  Missourian.  "Gineral  Sibley 
would  ha'  guv  his  best  hoss  to  save  that  Yank's  life.  You 
see  we  picked  off  them  battery  chaps  like  as  if  they  wor 
stuck  up  at  a  turkey-shootin'.  An1  thar  stood  that  Yank, 
McRae,  sigh  tin'  his  guns,  an'  never  mindin'  grape  nor 


300  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

shell  nor  bullets,  more'n  you'd  mind  a  dose  o'  quinine  fur 
fever  an'  agur.  Thar  he  wor,  when  we'd  killed  every  man 
of  his  command,  and  thar  he  wor  when  we  charged  on  to 
him.  'Surrender,  captain!'  says  Gineral  Sibley.  'You 
are  a  gallant  man.  I  want  to  save  your  life !' 

"Then  we  seen  him  jes'  smile,  an'  he  riz  his  head  up, 
an*  p'inted  to  his  breast  an*  body,  that  wor  kivered  all 
over  with  shot  holes,  and  bloody  as  a  bullock. 

"  'It's  too  late !'  wor  all  he  said ;  and  then  he  reeled 
an'  fell  across  his  gun.  We  lifted  him  up,  but  it  wor  no 
use.  There  wor  a  dozen  mortal  wounds,  if  there  wor  one, 
in  that  ar'  Yank." 

Such  was  the  account  which  I  received  from  this  wild 
Missourian,  concerning  the  death  of  that  noble  Union  sol- 
dier, Lieut.  Alexander  McRae,  of  the  regular  army.  He 
defended  his  pieces  to  the  last — till  all  who  had  served 
them  were  killed  or  wounded — and  then  he  sank  down 
himself,  the  last  victim  upon  an  altar  of  sacrifice.  Gen. 
Sibley's  victory  was  dearly  bought,  though  he  took  the 
six  pieces  that  have  since  served  the  rebels  in  a  hundred 
fields.  But  who  shall  say  how  much  we  lost  in  losing 
brave  McRae  ?  Peace  to  the  loyal  soldier's  ashes !  Un- 
dying honor  to  hi*  memory ! 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  301 


CHAPTER    XXXII, 

HOSPITAL  PHYSIOLOGY. 

FORTUNATE  was  it  for  me  that,  in  a  Confederate  hospi- 
tal, I  fell  under  skillful  treatment  and  kindly  care.  Dr. 
W.  H.  Gantt,  the  chief  surgeon,  recalled  to  my  memory 
that  we  had  met,  many  years  before,  when  he  was  a  young 
disciple  of  Hippocrates  in  Philadelphia.  I  found  in  him 
a  scientific  physician,  and  a  gentleman,  who  treated  me 
more  as  a  friend  than  as  a  prisoner.  Dr.  G.  W.  Neely, 
assistant  surgeon,  was  likewise  a  sympathetic  man,  and, 
indeed,  among  the  different  surgeons  and  nurses,  I  re- 
member no  one  who,  whatever  might  have  been  his  poli- 
tical bias,  ever  manifested  toward  me  aught  that  savored 
of  bitterness  or  rancor.  The  nurses,  principally  invalid  sol- 
diers detailed  for  hospital  duty,  were  civil  and  attentive, 
and  to  the  good  lady  of  the  house  1  was  indebted  for  many 
kindnesses,  that  I  shall  always  dwell  upon  with  pleasure. 

Mrs.  E ,  who  had  lent  books  from  her  library  to  my 

fellow-prisoners  at  Camp  Ford,  visited  the  hospital  ward 
several  times,  and  kept  me  supplied  with  mental  pabulum, 
being  not  forgetful,  in  her  goodness,  to  tender  an  occa- 
sional morceau  of  more  material  food,  in  the  shape  of  a 
bit  of  chicken  or  other  delicacy.  As  I  progressed  in 
convalescence,  Dr.  Gantt  permitted  many  indulgences  to 
returning  appetite  ;  and,  as  the  hospital  larder,  furnished 
by  contributions  from  a  large  neighborhood,  was  by  no 
means  an  empty  one,  I  cannot  class  my  sojourn  at  Hemp- 
stead  among  the  "jours  maigres"  of  prison  life.  Here 


302          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

was  black  tea  in  store,  sufficient,  as  the  matron  said,  to 
last  for  two  years ;  white  bread  was  received  from  Hous- 
ton once  or  twice  a  week;  flour,  sweet  potatoes,  beans, 
sausages,  poultry,  and  eggs  were  brought  in  by  farmers, 
anxious  to  make  favor  with  surgeons,  who  might  be  called 
upon  to  pronounce  as  to  the  physical  condition  of  con- 
scripts ;  and  finally,  there  were  "medical  stores"  of  whis- 
key and  wine,  which,  at  intervals,  and  by  spoonfuls, 
tempted  our  convalescent  lips,  in  the  disguise  of  egg-nogg. 
The  patients  were  representatives  of  various  military 
and  social  classes.  In  the  ward-room,  where  my  bed  was 
located,  there  were  nineteen  other  pallets,  each  with  its 
occupant,  until  a  discharge,  by  death  or  surgeon's  order, 
made  a  brief  vacancy,  to  be  filled  by  some  new-comer. 
Soldiers  from  nearly  all  the  regiments  or  brigades  of 
Trans-Mississippi  Confederate  troops  were  either  received 
for  treatment,  or  transiently  reported,  at  this  Hempstead 
hospital ;  and  it  was  my  custom,  when  able  to  rise,  to 
mingle  familiarly  in  conversation  with  all  who  appeared 
sociable.  The  death  of  my  two  fellow-prisoners,  Parker 
and  Tweedy,  left  me  a  solitary  Federal  among  the  rebels ; 
and  when,  at  dusk,  as  was  my  habit,  I  crept,  blanketed 
and  capped,  to  a  settee  behind  the  stove,  my  presence 
soon  collected  a  group  of  other  invalids,  who  liked  to 
hear  the  "  Yankee  officer"  talk,  and  were  glad  to  ask  and 
answer  many  a  question.  With  these  soldiers,  who  had 
seen  service  from  the  Rio  Grande  to  the  Mississippi ; 
who  had  marched  and  fought  under  Generals  Green,  and 
Sibley,  and  Magruder,  and  Price,  and  Waller,  and  Waul, 
and  Kirby  Smith ;  who  had  hunted  recusant  conscripts 
in  swamps,  foraged  with  Quantrell's  guerrillas  ;  ranged 
.  the  borders  with  Major  and  Pyron,  and  kept  the  coast 
with  Leon  Smith  and  his  amphibious  cow-boys ;  among 
these  wild  fellows,  now  stranded,  like  myself,  on  hospital 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  303 

cot-bed,  I  held  many  a  chat,  mingling  whiffs  of  tobacco- 
smoke,  and  exchanging  divers  items  of  fact  and  specu- 
lation. 

They  were  genial  fellows,  in  the  main,  my  rebel  com- 
rades of  this  ward-room;  and  their  brief  stories,  shrewd 
observations,  and  unvarnished  opinions,  afforded  me  a 
clearer  insight  to  the  internal  workings  of  rebellion,  than 
I  could  ever  have  gained  by  other  means.  Clustered 
around  our  iron  stove,  into  which  we  thrust  great  clumps 
of  fuel,  fetched  by  attendant  blacks,  we  whiled  long  hours, 
often  from  early  candle-light  to  midnight,  in  comparing 
views  upon  "secession,"  its  causes,  its  merits,  its  effects, 
and  its  prospects.  It  would  require  double  the  number 
of  pages  that  must  suffice  for  the  limits  of  this  book,  to 
rehearse  one  half  the  matters  of  interest  that  formed  the 
topics  of  our  prison  converse ;  and  the  relations  of  per- 
sonal histories  and  adventures  which  I  heard  might  con- 
stitute a  volume  of  frontier  romance ;  but  my  chief  en- 
joyment was  in  drawing  out  the  real  feelings  of  these 
rebel  soldiers,  regarding  what  they  termed  their  "  cause." 
Need  it  be  added  that  I  felt,  at  times,  repaid  for  every 
hardship  or  peril  that  I  might  endure,  when,  in  the  dim 
light  of  that  hospital  ward-room,  I  read  the  glow  of  honest 
loyality  on  some  dark  Texan  visage,  and  felt  the  grasp  of 
a  hard  but  warm  hand,  and  listened  to  the  low-breathed 
whisper — "  Colonel — I  was  always  a  Union  man — I'm  for 
the  Union  still! — May  God  speed  the  day  when  I  can 
openly  declare  it!" 

This  from  a  rebel  soldier;  with  the  brown  rags  of  Con- 
federate clothing  on  his  stalwart  limbs;  but  having  a 
heart  beating  under  them  for  that  "old  flag"  which  Re- 
bellion had  trampled  under  foot  in  Texas.  And  it  was 
not  from  a  single  mouth,  or  on  one  occasion  only,  that 
wishes  and  prayers  for  the  restoration  of  our  government 


304          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

over  the  land,  cheered  my  heart  in  a  prison-hospital.  I 
have  looked  about  upon  a  dozen,  and  counted  a  score,  of 
enlisted  soldiers  in  the  Confederate  service,  with  whom 
I  felt  that  I  could  trust  my  tongue  to  talk  of  Union — and 
of  Freedom — as  freely  as  I  could  speak  of  them  on  my 
own  northern  soil.  Many  a  time  has  my  sympathy  re- 
sponded to  a  simple  but  touching  recital,  like  the  fol- 
lowing— 

"  Colonel !  I  wor  ag'in  this  secession,  from  the  start ! 
I  wor  an  old  whig,  and  a  Sam  Houston  man,  when  he  run 
last;  but  when  he  caved  in,  what  wor  I  to  do?  I  stuck 
out,  to  the  last,  and  voted  ag'in  the  state  goin'  out;  but 
I'm  a  poor  man,  and  poor  men  can't  stand  the  pressure ! 
I  had  to  make  up  my  mind  to  volunteer,  or  be  conscripted. 
My  hogs  would  have  been  seized,  and  the  old  woman 
turned  out  of  doors,  if  I'd  held  back,  Colonel!  So,  I  jes' 
'played  possum,'  and  j'ined  the  army." 

"But,  could  you  not  have  left  the  state?"  I  inquired. 

"  Whar  to  go,  Colonel  ? . . .  .  Wife  and  three  young  crit- 
ters are  jes'  like  a  ball  and  chain  fur  a  poor  man.  1  own 
a  piece  o'  land,  with  a  hog-range  in  the  timber  clus'  by. 
S'posin'  I'd  undertook  to  make  tracks  out  o'  the  state, 
who'd  bought  my  log-pen  ?  who'd  paid  me  a  cent  for  hogs 
or  ye'rlin's?  No,  sir!  run  or  swing  on  a  black-jack  limb, 
would  ha'  been  my  choice ;  an'  I  tell  you,  Colonel,  a  feller 
can't  run  far  nor  fast,  without  money,  and  with  a  wife  and 
three  helpless  young  'uns  hangin'  onto  him,  sir !" 

I  could  not  but  confess  the  truth  of  this  remark ;  but 
I  proceeded  with  my  questions — 

"  How  does  your  wife  get  along  without  you,  the  child- 
ren being  helpless,  as  you  say  ?" 

"0  badly  enough,  Colonel.  The  poor  woman  has  to  do 
everything  herself;  though  I  did  leave  right  smart  o' 
hog's  meat  an1  meal  in  our  log-pen.  But,  my  cattle— I 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  305 

had  fifteen  head — they're  all  stampeded ;  and  the  old  wo- 
man couldn't  'tend  to  markin'  the  ye'rlin's!  Besides  all 
that,  thar's  a  mean  cuss  of  a  neighbor,  a  desarter  at  that, 
who's  been  muddyin'  our  spring,  so  my  wife  can't  git 
water,  without  going  three  mile  for  it. — Blast  him,  if  ever 
I  get  him,  there'll  be  one  less  cowardly  reb.  in  the  Lone 
Star  State !" 

The  story  of  this  soldier  might  serve  for  hundreds  of 
his  class.  Men  with  families  of  young  children,  dwelling 
on  some  wilderness  farm ;  which  they  had  purchased  and 
cleared;  owning  perhaps,  ten  or  twenty  head  of  stock, 
and  some  hogs  ;  striving,  by  honest  labor,  to  earn  a  home 
for  later  years;  such  men  are  the  saddest  victims  of  the 
wretched  delusion  which  has  ruined  our  Southern  states. 
The  wealthy  notables,  whose  ambition  begot,  stimulated, 
and  precipitated  the  unholy  strife,  have  been  compara- 
tively unharmed,  as  yet,  by  its  effects.  The  two  orders 
of  citizens  who  really  suffer,  at  the  South,  and  more  espe- 
cially in  the  Gulf  states,  are,  on  the  one  hand,  the  wealthy 
and  honest  enthusiasts  for  State  rights,  who  plunged  into 
the  contest  with  a  self-sacrificing  zeal  which  would  have 
sanctified  a  less  atrocious  cause,  and  who  abandoned  homes, 
professions,  station,  and  even  their  families,  in  order  to 
give  service,  money,  and  life  itself  to  the  Confederacy ; 
and  on  the  other  hand,  that  immense  class  of  non-slave- 
holding,  laboring,  and  producing  Southerners,  who  never 
really  sympathized  with  Secession,  but  who  were  drawn 
in  under  the  "pressure"  of  various  influences,  to  become 
the  bulk  of  rebel  armies  and  the  victims  of  every  battle- 
field. A  majority  of  the  ancient  members  of  whig  and 
American  parties,  and  a  very  large  proportion  of  even  the 
Democratic  party  of  the  South,  who  were  either  small 
land-owners,  or  artisans,  cattle-drivers,  and  proletarian 
operatives  generally,  had  no  more  interest  in  the  issues 


306          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

whereupon  the  Southern  orators  were  blatant,  than  they 
possessed  in  the  stock  of  banks  or  railroads.  On  these 
poor  men — forced  by  the  accident  of  birth-place  or  loca- 
tion to  cast  their  fortunes  with  Rebellion — the  hardships 
and  horrors  of  war  have  borne  with  crushing  weight.  To 
this  class  a  majority  of  Texans  belonged;  but  it  is  a  truth 
not  now  to  be  denied,  that  this  majority  never  voted 
for  the  secession  ordinance  which  carried  the  Lone  Star 
State  out  of  the  Union  that  had  done  so  much  for  her 
welfare;  that  had  incurred  for  her  protection  a  war  with 
Mexico,  replenished  her  bankrupt  treasury,  fostered  her 
growing  institutions,  and  defended  her  from  savage  foes. 

"What  is  the  reason,"  I  one  day  asked,  of  a  young 
Texan,  who  belonged  to  Waul's  Legion,  and  whose  Union 
proclivities  were  known  to  me — "  What  is  the  reason  that 
you,  who  have  no  family  to  encumber  you,  do  not  make 
your  way  to  the  Federal  army  ?" 

"  Well,  Colonel,"  answered  the  ranger,  with  a  humorous 
expression  in  his  fine  eyes  that  announced  a  jest  he  was 
about  to  utter — "to  speak  candidly,  I've  never  had  a 
chance  to  get  near  enough  to  the  Fed's.  They  were  al- 
ways running  away  from  us  Texas  boys !" 

I  smiled  at  the  retort,  but  could  not  help  wincing  under 
it;  for  it  is  a  lamentable  fact  that  our  troops  have  invari- 
ably encountered  reverses  in  their  several  expeditions 
against  the  Texan  coast  and  borders.  It  is  no  marvel 
that  those  rough -natured,  courageous  men,  who  compose 
seventy  or  eighty  regiments  which  Texas  has  raised  for 
service  beyond  her  frontiers,  should  have  become  vain 
and  self-glorious  concerning  their  invincibility,  or  that 
the  nourishment  of  their  local  pride  should  prove  a 
potent  aid  to  rebel  leaders  in  their  discipline  and  hand- 
ling of  conscript  masses.  Mankind  is  the  creature  of 
gregarious  affinities;  and  camp  life,  coupled  with  victori- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  307 

ous  associations  and  mutual  experiences,  may  mould  an 
army  of  men  who  entertained  very  incongruous  sentiments 
into  a  military  homogeneity  that  must  soon  eradicate  all 
dividing  lines.  If  more  than  half  the  people  of  the  South 
were  Union-men  when  the  Rebellion  broke  out  in  South 
Carolina,  so,  at  various  stages  of  the  war,  Unionism  has 
pervaded  Southern  armies,  or  has  been  seemingly  crushed 
out  entirely,  just  as  the  barometer  of  success  or  reverse, 
of  hardships  or  hopes,  has  indicated  the  future  to  be  for  or 
against  the  principle  of  Secession. 

Discussing  facts  like  these,  with  rebel  volunteers,  in 
Hempstead  hospital,  modified  many  former  views  which 
I  had  harbored  regarding  Southern  Secession.  I,  a  pri- 
soner, alone  in  the  heart  of  a  seceded  state,  discovered 
secret  friends  in  men  who  might  have  before  encountered 
me  in  deadly  conflict,  or  might  do  so  in  the  future,  and 
yet  whose  hopes  and  sympathies  were  akin  to  my  own. 
This  poor  German  soldier,  who  shares  with  me  the  white 
bread  and  savory  sausage  brought  by  his  good  wife  from 
their  little  farm,  some  twelve  miles  distant;  brought  in 
a  basket  upon  horse-back,  by  that  good  wife,  through  sleet 
and  snow  of  a  January  norther ;  this  poor  fellow,  whose 
eyes  gleam  when  I  speak  to  him,  is  no  more  a  rebel  in 
heart  than  I  am ;  but  he  must,  nevertheless,  shoulder  a 
Confederate  musket,  and  march  out,  from  the  little  home 
which  he  has  built  up  by  hard  toil,  to  brave  the  perils  of 
battle  and  suffer  the  pangs  of  disease,  for  a  quarrel  that 
must  make  him  poorer  day  by  day,  and  which,  if  success- 
ful in  its  quest,  could  never  insure  him  a  jot  or  tittle  of 
property  in  the  future.  This  rude  but  kindly  nurse,  who 
wishes  that  he  could  go  with  me  to  the  North,  when  I 
shall  be  exchanged,  and  who  shows  me  a  letter  from  home 
that  tells  a  story  of  privation  and  struggle,  would  fervently 
hail  the  return  of  peace  and  government,  under  that 


308          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

grand  banner  which  can  alone  secure  their  permanence 
This  ranger,  who  smokes  his  pipe  on  my  right,  and  whose 
little  property  has  been  eaten  away  by  rebel  tithes,  would 
gladly,  as  he  says,  give  all  that  is  left  to  him,  if  Union 
could  be  restored,  and  the  Nation  keep  step,  once  more, 
to  the  old,  beloved  music.  And  this  intelligent  cripple — 
a  Methodist  preacher  who  became  a  military  wagon-master, 
and  lost  his  leg  under  car-wheel  on  yonder  railroad — has 
too  much  judgment  to  share  in  the  illusive  dreams  of  a 
baseless,  friendless,  and  hopeless  Southern  Confederacy. 
These  men  are  only  types  of  the  great  family  of  loyal 
men  whose  hands  are  wielded,  not  by  their  own  volition, 
but  by  an  extraneous  power,  born  of  folly,  and  strength- 
ened with  arrogance,  but  inevitably,  doomed  to  perish, 

and  become 

—"A  thing 
O'er  which  the  raven  flaps  its  funeral  wing." 

Abruptly  on  one  of  the  latter  days  of  January,  1864,  I 
receive  orders  from  the  post-surgeon — Dr.  Gantt  being 
temporarily  absent — to  pack  up  and  get  ready  for  travel. 
The  nurses  congratulate  me  on  a  prospect  of  speedy  lib- 
eration; the  rebel  invalids,  and  convalescents,  with  whom 
I  have  been  familiarly  domiciliated,  crowd  around,  and 
tender  hearty  wishes  for  my  future  health  and  happiness. 
I  grasp  several  rough,  warm  hands,  but  the  locomotive 
whistle  hurries  me,  and  I  must  call  out,  in  parting,  that 
"  I  wish  I  could  shake  hands  with  all  of  you,  boys  !"  and 
so,  after  brief  adieus  to  our  kind  matron  and  Dr.  East- 
man, I  find  myself  hastening  to  the  railroad,  with  many 
a  Texan  "  God  bless  you,  Colonel !"  lingering  in  my  ears. 

A  rebel  lieutenant,  who  has  charge  of  Camp  Groce, 
meets  me  at  the  cars,  and  says  that  I  am  remanded  to 
that  post,  instead  of  being,  as  I  had  hoped,  permitted  to 
proceed  to  Shreveport,  where  I  suppose  my  fellow-officers 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  309 

to  have  preceded  me.  A  few  minutes  of  steam-travelling 
conveys  me  to  the  well-remembered  stockades,  within 
whose  unfinished  lines  are  our  desolate  barracks,  that  re- 
call to  me  many  melancholy  reminiscences  of  sickness 
and  death. 

But  I  am  not  to  be  confined  in  the  old  buildings.  The 
lieutenant  stops  at  the  sheds  once  occupied  by  our  Sabine 
Pass  officers ;  and  I  am  ushered  into  one  of  them,  where 
a  fire-place  is  roaring  with  great  hickory  logs  a-flame,  and 
where  some  half-dozen  guards  are  watching  a  huge  pot 
of  beans  that  boils  before  them.  Here  I  am  at  once  fer- 
vently greeted  by  the  welcome  tones  of  "  Yankee"  voices, 
proceeding  from  the  brothers  Smith,  whom  I  had  feared 
were  still  in  chains  and  jeopardy.  But  the  brave  boys, 
still  wearing  Federal  uniform,  seemed  in  excellent  heart 
and  bodily  condition;  and  speedily  made  me  quite  at 
home  in  their  quarters,  which  they  shared  with  a  good- 
humored  set  of  rebel  conscripts.  I  took  my  stool  in  their 
circle,  and  discussed  some  palatable  bacon,  sausage-meat, 
and  biscuit,  with  an  appetite  that  gave  warrant  of  return- 
ing digestion. 

The  Smith  brothers  had  been  looking  for  my  arrival, 
in  hopes  that  it  would  announce  their  own  speedy  parole 
and  transfer  to  Shreveport.  They  related  to  me  the  in- 
cidents of  their  trial  by  the  civil  authorities  at  Houston, 
on  a  charge  of  horse-stealing.  It  appeared  that  they  found 
friends  and  sympathizers  in  quarters  where  they  expected 
harsh  usage.  The  sheriff,  in  whose  custody  they  were 
placed,  and  whose  duty  it  was  to  empannel  the  jury,  had 
shown  them  especial  favor  ;  and  they  had  been  ably  de- 
fended by  a  volunteer  counsel ;  while  the  court,  instruct- 
ing the  jury,  had  declared  them  amenable,  as  Federal 
soldiers,  to  military  law  alone.  "When  these  prisoners- 
of-war  escaped  from  their  guards,"  said  the  Texan  judge; 


310          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

"they  became  at  once  hostile  belligerents,  and  possessed 
the  right,  as  such,  to  take  up  arms  against  us.  It  was 
their  duty,  moreover,  to  rejoin  their  regiment  as  speedily 
as  possible,  and  to  make  use  of  every  means  to  escape 
from  an  enemy's  country.  They  exercised  their  right,  as 
military  belligerents,  to  appropriate  horses  or  arms  of  an 
enemy,  in  order  to  facilitate  their  own  return  to  the 
government  which  claimed  their  allegiance.  If  they  are 
to  be  punished  for  this,  the  punishment  must  be  inflicted 
by  military  law." 

Under  such  sensible  ruling  our  Smith  boys  were  acquit- 
ted of  civil  offence,  and  remanded  to  the  military  autho- 
rities, by  whom  they  were  sent  to  Camp  Groce,  where  I 
now  encountered  them.  So  these  brave  fellows  have 
contrived  to  see  a  great  deal  of  Texas  at  rebel  expense. 
Captured  at  the  prairie-edge,  near  Vermillionville,  in 
Louisiana,  while  out  on  a  foraging  jaunt,  they  were,  at 
first,  taken  to  Houston  and  incarcerated  in  a  guard-house. 
Escaping  thence,  they  helped  themselves  to  a  couple  of 
horses  from  a  roadside  barn,  which  was  sentineled  by  a 
sleeping  dog,  obtained  a  saddle  for  one  from  a  farm-house 
porch,  where  slept  another  mastiff,  and  borrowed  two 
bridles  and  a  second  saddle  from  some  other  neighboring 
ranch.  Thus  mounted  and  caparisoned,  they  kept  the 
public  road,  without  money,  and  in  Federal  uniforms, 
stopping  at  rebel  houses,  and  passing  for  Confederate 
soldiers  on  furlough,  till  they  traversed  the  entire  distance 
between  Houston  and  San  Antone,  across  the  heart  of 
Texas.  They  supped  with  the  families  of  rebel  officers, 
dined  at  the  tables  of  rebel  parsons,  and  told  rebel  "news" 
to  everybody  who  questioned  them.  Had  they  succeeded 
in  getting  beyond  San  Antone,  they  might  have  escaped 
to  the  Mexican  border ;  but,  just  before  reaching  that 
city,  they  were  so  imprudent  as  to  make  themselves  known 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  311 

to  some  Texan  wagoners  whom  they  overtook,  and  who  ap- 
peared to  be  favorable  to  the  Union.  These  men  betrayed 
them,  and  they  were  arrested  in  the  streets  of  San  Antone, 
cast  into  prison  and  chains,  and  subsequently,  as  we  have 
learned,  returned  to  confinement  in  Houston.  But  they 
were  full  of  pluck  and  determination  still,  and  assured 
me,  in  a  whisper,  that  tney  were  not  the  boys  to  be  kept 
long  in  any  rebel  prison. 

But  our  sojourn  at  Camp  Groce,  with  the  queer  perso- 
nages whom,  by  courtesy,  we  called  our  guards,  was  quite 
unlike  imprisonment.  We  were  our  own  masters,  to  a 
great  extent,  being  allowed  to  range  quite  freely  over 
surrounding  localities.  Many  a  tramp  about  the  old  bar- 
racks, and  within  the  woods,  and  over  to  the  Federal 
graves,  did  I  have,  in  company  with  some  sociable  con- 
script, or  with  the  Smith  boys;  and  we  felt  no  galling  of 
a  "  captive's  chain"  either  in  or  out  of  our  quarters.  The 
Smiths  and  myself  occupied  a  shed,  with  one  or  two  con- 
scripts, and  we  read,  played  chess,  or  sunned  ourselves, 
or  gossipped  by  the  fire,  like  favored  guests  in  the  rural 
districts. 

The  conscripts  were  all  characters.  We  had  our  Mis- 
sourian  cattle-driver;  a  very  Falistaff of  a  man;  with  that 
venerable  swash-buckler's  traits  of  morality  improved 
upon ;  a  salacious  old  dog,  who  smacked  his  lips  over  the 
recital  of  scapegrace  adventures,  with  as  much  unction  as 
Sir  John,  when  he  vapored  with  Shallow  about  "St.  Cle- 
ment's inn"  and  the  "bona  robas."  Many  a  quaint  tale 
did  this  strange,  white-bearded  sinner  relate,  while  his 
ponderous  paunch  shook  with  deep  quakes  of  laughter. 
We  had  a  sober  citizen,  on  the  other  hand,  who  never 
smiled,  but  vented  the  most  mirth-provoking  expressions 
without  a  single  grim  foiuscle  being  softened  by  them. 
Then  we  had  our  disputative  conscript;  our  growling  con- 


312          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

script;  our  Jeff.  Davis-hating  conscript;  our  substantial 
conscript;  and  our  conscript  with  no  substance  at  all;  about 
a  dozen,  perhaps,  in  all,  coming  and  going,  during  our 
stay  of  three  or  four  Sabbaths ;  and  I  must  do  them  the 
justice,  to  say,  that  a  better-natured,  merrier  set  of  grum 
bling  foemen  I  never  wish  to  encounter.  There  were  good 
Union  men  among  them,  moreover;  and  a  few  with  minds 
and  cultivation  much  above  the  average  of  the  conscript- 
class.  With  the  loyal -hearted  ones,  I  could  talk  freely, 
on  loyal  themes ;  and  it  thrilled  my  heart  more  than  once 
to  hear  the  earnest  expression  of  hopes  and  longings  for 
the  Union  that  had  been  flung  away  by  reckless  political 
gamesters.  "  Would  to  God!"  cried  one  of  these  men,  to 
me — "that  Lincoln  could  hurl  a  million  of  men  on  this 
accursed  Confederacy,  and  blot  every  traitor  from  the 
face  of  its  earth!"  These  were  the  words  he  uttered; 
and,  as  I  recall  them,  I  can  almost  see  the  man,  as  he 
stood  before  me,  with  indignant  look,  and  hands  clinched, 
as  if  to  emphasize  his  adjurations.  How  I  wished,  then, 
for  a  regiment  or  two  at  my  back,  as  a  nucleus  for  ten 
thousand  such  gallant  Union  Texans  as  this,  to  rally 
around.  How  I  mentally  anathematized  the  folly  or 
supineness  which  had  left  such  men  to  be  segregated, 
dispirited,  hunted,  and  conscripted  to  rebel  service,  when 
they  burned  to  organize  and  strike  for  the  rights  which  a 
bullying  minority  had  wrested  from  them. 

It  was  by  conversation  with  Texans  of  this  stamp  that 
I  learned  the  fact,  studiously  ignored  or  suppressed  by 
Sec  essionists,  that  less  than  half  the  actual  voters  of  the 
State  cast  ballots  when  their  "Lone  Star"  was  obscured 
by  treason's  red  eclipse ;  that  less  than  sixty  men  and 
boys  constituted  a  "  Convention"  which  had  drafted  the 
Secession  audience;  and  that  only  a  "Reign  of  Terror'* 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  313 

had  dragooned  the   people  into  their  mute  acquiescence 
with  Rebellion. 

Some  stout  hearts  held  out  against  threats  of  death  and 
under  actual  persecution  and  imprisonment.  Judge  Bald- 
win, a  leading  citizen,  Dr.  Peebles,  a  wealthy  and  influential 
gentleman,  Attorney-General  Rosenbaum,  Judge  Whit- 
more,  and  other  members  of  the  Legislature ;  with  many 
more  gallant  souls,  of  all  conditions  and  positions;  kept 
their  testimony  of  faith  in  our  Union  through  all  perils 
and  temptations.  May  they  be  recompensed  and  rewarded 
in  the  "good  time  coming!" 

The  few  weeks  of  my  second  stay  at  Camp  Groee  were 
marked  by  genial  Spring  weather,  which  recruited  my 
energies  rapidly.  Two  mails  came  to  me,  one  day,  and 
my  heart  throbbed,  for  a  moment,  in  anticipation  of  "home 
news  ;"  for  I  had  received  but  one  letter  from  my  wife 
since  the  capture  of  Brashear ;  but  the  epistles  were  both 
postmarked  in  Texas.  One  was  from  Col.  Nott,  at  Camp 
Ford,  giving  me  items  concerning  his  new  prison,  and 
dissipating  every  hope  that  I  had  cherished  regarding  the 
exchange  or  parole  of  our  fellow-officers.  The  other  was  a 
courteous  note  from  Mr.  Gushing,  editor  of  the  "Houston 
Telegraph,"  conveying  a  kind  tender  of  service,  and  ac- 
companied by  some  New  York  papers,  which  were  richly 
acceptable.  This  unlooked-for  attention  from  a  stranger 
was,  I  need  scarcely  say,  very  grateful  to  a  prisoner,  as 
were  the  friendly  words  which  prefaced  it:  "Recognizing 
your  name  as  that  of  one  whose  writings  I  have  in  times 
past  admired,  I  obtained  permission  from  Gen.  Magruder 
to  send  you  a  newspaper,  and  also  to  tender  you  any  as- 
sistance it  may  be  in  my  power  to  render,  consistent  with 
the  relations  that  exist  between  us.  Should  you  wish  for 
money,  I  can  advance  you  a  limited  amount  at  any  time, 
subject  to  the  approval  of  the  Provost  Marshal  General." 


314          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

I  hastened  to  procure  a  sheet  of  writing-paper,  and  a 
well-worn  pen  from  one  of  our  "  guards;"  and  lost  no  time 
in  acknowledging  Mr.  Cushing's  polite  offer;  telling  him 
that,  though  I  was  personally  provided  with  funds  for 
economical  use,  at  present,  I  would  not  hesitate  to  avail 
myself  of  his  liberality,  should  a  long  extension  of  cap- 
tivity render  it  necessary,  for  myself  or  comrades.  I  ad- 
ded a  small  literary  contribution  for  his  journal,  and  soon 
afterwards  received  a  welcome  reply,  in  the  shape  of 
another  instalment  of  "Yankee"  newspapers. 

Meantime,  our  Smith  boys,  getting  restless  under  delay 
and  inaction,  were  projecting  another  attempt  to  escape, 
from  which  I  succeeded,  however,  in  dissuading  them. 
Our  quarters  were  often  visited  by  Texan  volunteers, 
who,  intending  to  take  the  cars  at  this  water-station, 
would  present  themselves  in  camp,  mounted  upon  fine 
steeds,  and  accompanied  by  negroes  who  were  to  go  back 
with  their  masters'  horses.  Sometimes,  one  or  two  of 
these  cavaliers  would  "bunk"  with  us;  leaving  their 
animals,  with  saddles  and  bridles,  tethered  in  a  shed  at 
the  rear,  and  often  hanging  up  their  pistols,  or  depositing 
their  guns,  within  reach  of  our  "  Yankee"  hands,  till 
morning.  The  brothers  Smith  were  sorely  tempted  by 
such  opportunities,  and  I  think  that,  if  I  had  not  discoun- 
tenanced the  venture,  those  brave  garcons  would  have 
improved  a  moonlit  night  by  riding  away  once  more,  on 
"borrowed"  chargers,  with  rebel  arms  and  haversacks 
slung  at  their  saddle-bows. 

But,  at  length,  one  morning,  just  after  I  had  returned 
from  a  long  stroll,  with  Mr.  Howe,  an  intelligent  and 
agreeable  "  chum"  of  mine,  the  train  from  Houston  rattled 
up,  and  a  snuffy-looking  Hessian  Confederate  reported 
orders  from  Head  Quarters.  The  Federal  prisoners  were 
to  be  at  once  removed  to  Camp  Ford.  The  Teutonic 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  315 

gentleman,  of  drill-sergeant  aspect,  was  to  take  charge  of 
us,  and  we  were  expected  to  get  ready  while  the  cars 
waited. 

Short  leave-takings  were  necessary;  much  bustle  to 
get  "tricks"  together;  resulting  in  my  bestowal  of  several 
cumbersome  "traps"  on  our  guards,  as  keep-sakes;  induc- 
ing, also,  the  relinquishment,  on  my  part,  of  a  costly 
military  cloak,  to  the  Hempstead  telegraph  operator,  in 
consideration  of  some  three  hundred  and  odd  wretched 
Confederate  dollars;  and  thereafter,  with  my  comrades, 
the  Smiths,  and  a  fresh  half-dozen  of  Federal  sailors  from 
Houston,  who  were  consigned  to  Shreveport,  for  parole, 
I  found  myself  whisked  over  the  railroad,  some  twenty 
miles,  to  Navasota. 

At  that  place  steam-transportation  ended,  and  we  were 
to  finish  our  journey  in  stage-coaches.  I  purchased  a 
pound  of  "Lincoln"  coffee,  at  fifteen  dollars — last  token 
of  abandoned  civilization ;  and  then,  at  the  word  of  our 
custodian,  orderly  sergeant  and  brevet-lieutenant  of  pro- 
vost-guards, I  took  seat  among  six,  in  the  coach,  and  was 
rolled  away  to  Anderson,  the  capitol  of  Grimes  county, 
where  we  tasted  a  frugal  supper  of  fat  bacon  and  hard 
bread,  rations  carried  with  us  on  the  coach. 

That  night  we  passed  on  the  road,  toiling  slowly  through 
heavy  mud,  and  making  but  one  stop,  near  midnight,  to 
change  horses  and  swallow  some  coffee  at  the  moderate 
price  of  one  dollar  and  a  half  a  cup. 


316  TWENTY  MONTHS  IJS   THE 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

STAGE-COACH  STORIES. 

THE  stage-coach,  lumbering  heavily  over  ruts  and 
ridges;  dragged  by  laboring  horse-flesh,  night  and  day; 
that  vehicle  almost  obsolete  for  Northern  transportation ; 
is  still  the  principal  public  means  of  travel  in  south- 
western regions.  I  sat  beside  the  driver  during  much  of 
my  Texan  transit,  and  was  thus  enabled  to  look  out  and 
over  points  of  interest.  Our  first  Jehu  was  an  admirable 
"whip,"  and  manifestly  plumed  himself  thereon.  His 
lash,  describing  aerial  battle-fields  by  segments,  tangents, 
arcs,  and  curves,  could  lasso  gadflies  on  his  leaders'  ear- 
tips,  or  fire  a  fusilade  of  snapper-cracks  with  such  rapid- 
ity as  Lonjoumeau's  renowned  postilion  might  have  en- 
vied. He  was  literally  an  "  old  stager ;"  for  he  had  driven 
his  "four-in-hand"  upon  the  Blue  Ridge  and  through  Ca- 
lifornian  canons,  over  western  corduroys  and  in  the  south- 
ern cypress  swamps.  He  had  "  run  a  mail"  via  northern 
Texas  and  the  Indian  trail,  until  his  fellow-drivers  were 
all  shot  or  tomahawked  by  Camanches;  and  he  "drove 
express"  through  western  Louisiana  till  the  Federals  en- 
tered New  Iberia,  and  he  was  obliged  to  rattle  off  his  last 
coach  at  "  double  quick"  in  advance  of  the  rebel  couriers. 
"Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded,"  this  roving  chari- 
oteer now  made  Texas  his  curriculum,  and  rejoiced  as 
an  "exempt"  from  military  service.  His  conversations 
were  on  "hair-breadth  'scapes"  and  imminent  highway 
perils,  that  would  read,  if  printed,  like  a  yellow-covered 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  317 

novelette.  He  knew  the  legends  of  a  hundred  wayside 
melees,  with  ball  and  bowie-knife,  and  pointed  out,  on 
our  journey,  here  and  there,  the  spots  which  murders, 
lynchings,  or  waylayings  had  made  historical. 

"  Down  yander  cross-pike,  thar" — he  indicated  with  his 
whip-handle  a  narrow  turning  from  the  road,  through 
sombre  woods — "  old  man  Larew  was  sot  on  for  his  money, 
nigh  on  to  a  mouth  ago.  Some  say  it  wor  jayhawkers 
got  him  ;  but  I  reckon  'twor  the  sojers.  Thar  wor  a  heap 
o'  conscripts  in  the  timber,  skulkin',  and  old  man  Larew 
wor  used  to  keep  right  smart  o'  plunder  in  his  log-pen.1' 

"  You  say  they  killed  him  ?" 

"  Dog-on  if  they  didn't — cut  and  shot  the  old  man  or- 
ful;  sot  fire  to  his  log-pen;  and  the  body  mought  ha' 
burnt  too  if  the  niggers  hadn't  woke  up  just  in  time.  The 
varmint  got  the  old  man,  shore,  and  got  his  specie,  I've 
heern." 

We  rode  a  mile  or  two,  and  passed  a  belt  of  woodland, 
bordering  on  a  prairie.  The  driver  pointed  to  a  clump 
of  timber  at  a  little  distance.  "  Thar's  the  place,"  said 
he,  "they  hung  a  chap  for  waylayin'  two  travellers  in  a 
wagon.  He  shot  'em  in  the  back,  and  tried  to  cache  thc'r 
bodies  underneath  them  red  oak  yander.  But  the  hoss 
an'  wagon  wor  his  ruination ;.  for  a  nigger  seen  him  driv- 
ing an'  the  county  raised  and  hunted  him.  They  got 
sign  o'  the  varmint  past  Trinity  river,  an'  treed  him  in 
the  Big  Thicket  with  dogs.  He  wor  fetched  back  yer, 
to  them  dientical  oaks,  an'  hung  right  over  whar  he  got 
the  men.  His  carcass  is  buried  out  yer,  jas'  whar  he  dug 
the  grave,  and  tried  to  cover  his  trail,  you  see,  but  he 
couldn't;  'cause  murder'll  out,  shore's  shootinM" 

He  touched  up  his  nigh  leader,  and  indulged  in  sundry 
resonant  lash-crackings,  which  startled  woodland  echoes 
all  about  us.  Stage-wheels  began  to  spin,  and,  steady- 


318  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

ing  myself  upon  the  precipitous  box-seat,  I  had  only  time 
to  cast  a  parting  glance  across  the  murderer's  grave  be- 
fore we  whirled  into  a  hollow.  But,  arrived  at  the  next 
hill,  and  slowly  climbing  it,  I  ventured  to  inquire  if  these 
assassinations  were  as  common  now  as  formerly  in  Texas. 

"  I'm  not  clar  as  to  that,"  the  driver  answered.  'Tve 
heern  o'  right  smart  shootin'  an'  cuttin'  when  them  Re- 
gulators and  Moderators  fou't  ag'in  one  another  so  long 
'go  as  Murrel's  gang — that  'ar  cussed  nigger  thief  'an 
land  pirate.  Talkin'  o'  nigger  thieves,  jes'  look  yander, 
through  the  oak-openin,' an'  you'll  sight  a  blazed  siump — 
out  yer,  whar  the  road  forks." 

I  glanced  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  beheld  the 
charred  remains  of  an  oak-trunk,  with  its  extended  limbs, 
like  skeleton  arms,  blackened  by  fire,  which  had  probably 
consumed  the  upper  branches. 

"  That  wor  the  spot  whar  a  nigger  thief  and  Linkin 
spy  wor  burnt,"  quoth  the  driver. 

"Burnt  alive  !"  I  ejaculated. 

"  Hide  an'  har,"  returned  my  matter-of-fact  colloquist. 
"Yer  see,  the  committee  diskivered  a  heap  o'  brimstone, 
kreosote,  an*  strichnine  in 'that  chap's  log-pen,  hid  in  a 
bar'l ;  an'  thar'd  been  right  smart  o'  well-p'is'inin'  an' 
cabin-burnin'  goin'  on  roun'  Trinity  Timber ;  so  the  cit- 
izens jes'  up  an'  got  this  man,  some  whar'  'bout  this  yer 
range.  He  wor  a  Baptist  preacher,  an'  a  sort  o'  doctor, 
an'  allowed  it  wor  a  sin  to  lick  niggers ;  and  so  the  people 
jes'  sot  on  his  case,  an'  fetched  him  guilty  o'  p'is'inin' 
wells,  an'  house-burnin',  an'  spyin'  for  old  Abe  Linkin. 
Some  said  hang  and  some  said  shoot;  but  the  majority 
wor  fur  burnin'  the  cuss  ;  an'  out  yer's  whar  they  kerried 
the  sentence  into  execution,  you  see." 

"It  was  a  mob,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  wor  a  mob,  shore ;  an'  the  sheriff  o'  the  county 


DEPARTMENT  OF   THE  GULF.  319 

wor  at  the  head.  That's  nigh  on  to  a  y'ar  ago,  an'  I 
heern  nothin'  about  Linkin  spies  roun'  sence  that  'ar  burn- 
in'.  Clar'd  'em  out,  shore !" 

11  Are  there  no  regular  courts  and  juries,  driver  ?"  T 
asked. 

"Mighty  skerse,  you  bet.  What  wor  that  you  axed 
me,  about  these  yer  killin's — if  they  wor  common  yer- 
abouts  ?  Now  I'll  jes'  tell  you  what  wor  told  me  by  an 
old  Texan ;  an'  he's  lived  in  these  yer  diggins,  man  an' 
boy,  nigh  on  to  sixty  y'ar.  We  wor  a-talkin'  consarn- 
in'  shootin's,  an'  cuttin's,  an'  sich  things,  an'  sez  he — 
1  Wor  you  ever  in  Mexico  ?'  an'  I  told  him  I  wor,  menny 
a  day.  'Then,'  sez  he,  'you  know,  when  a  murder's 
trailed  down  thar,  an'  they  git  sign  o'  the  body,  they  jes' 
stick  up  a  wooden  cross  to  p'int  out  the  place  whar  the 
job  wor  done  !'  'I  know  all  about  that,'  sez  I,  'for  I've 
sighted  a  heap  o'  them  crosses.1  .'Well,  then',  sez  this 
old  Texan  to  me,  sez  he,  '  if  you  wor  to  stick  up  a  cross 
in  Texas  for  every  murder  an'  killin'  as  hez  been  done 
yer,  thar'd  be  wooden  mileposts  all  the  way  from  Sabine- 
town  to  Brownsville  !'  That's  what  an  old  Texan  said, 
stranger." 

"  No  doubt  His  true  !"  I  responded. 

"Law  an'  gospel,  shore!'.'  rejoined  the  driver.  "I 
heern  a  squire  down  in  Crockett  say  he  didn't  know  a 
single  cussed  town  in  all  Texas  whar  thar  hedn't  been  a 
murder,  or  shootin',  or  killin'  o'  some  sort — an'  he  didn't 
know  only  one  case  whar  anybody  was  hung  for  it,  an' 
that  wor  only  an  old  Mexican  woman  which  p'is'ined  and 
robbed  a  soger  down  yander  at  San  Antone.  G-e-t  up, 
yer  lazy  critters !" 

Passing  rapidly  through  Huntsville,  capital  of  Walker 
County,  and  the  seat  of  that  State  Penitentiary,  wherein 


320          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Col.  Burrell  and  his  fellow-officers  had  been  incarcerated, 
we  rode  all  day  through  a  well-timbered  country ;  get- 
ting sunshiny  glimpses  of  rolling  lands,  devoted  to  the 
culture  of  corn,  tobacco,  and  cotton.  We  crossed  the 
Trinity  river,  after  about  fifty  hours'  travel  from  the  rail- 
road line ;  and,  having  stopped  to  dine  at  a  tavern,  I  no- 
ticed, when  the  stage  rolled  on,  that  another  passenger 
was  added  to  our  "deck-load;"  a  venerable  old  gentle- 
man, whose  face  bespoke  intelligence  and  whose  garb 
betokened  comfortable  circumstances. 

The  talk  was  upon  that  never-ending  theme — the  war. 
A  heavy-headed,  beetle-browed  Confederate  officer  was 
my  vis-a-vis,  and  a  saturnine  secessionist,  who  wore  a 
threadbare  coat,  was  helping  him  to  curse  the  "  Yankee 
tyrants."  Not  caring  to  embroil  myself  with  either  of 
these  worthies,  I  turned  my  eyes  and  thoughts  upon  sur- 
rounding scenery,  and  only  caught  a  word,  occasionally, 
till  the  name  of  "  Mr.  Lincoln,"  uttered  by  the  elder  pas- 
senger, attracted  my  attention. 

"  I  knew  him  very  veil.  We  were  young  men  and 
boys  together 1  recollect  a  curious  circumstance — " 

The  old  man  paused,  but  it  had  been  sufficient.  All 
other  conversation  ceased,  and  our  curiosity  waited  for  a 
story. 

"  We  were  young  men  together,  and  I  bring  to  mind, 
as  if  it  were  but  yesterday,  how  several  of  us — Abraham 
Lincoln  with  the  rest — were  one  day  listening  to  a  strol- 
ling fortune-teller,  who  pretended  to  predict  our  destinies. 
To  some  of  us  were  promised  wealth,  to  others  station  ; 
and  others  were  to  have  more  checkered  futures ;  to  be 
crossed  in  love  or  placed  in  dangerous  straits.  The  only 
one  who  seemed  to  take  no  interest  in  the  matter  was 
young  Lincoln.  He  was  not  a  beauty,  then,  no  more  than 
now,  and  hardly  calculated  to  be  marked  for  special  favors ; 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  321 

so  he  kept  within  the  background,  while  the  rest  of  us 
were  sharing  fortune,  good  and  evil.  At  length,  how- 
ever, some  one  pushed  him  forward.  *  Here,  tell  us  this 
one's  fortune,'  cried  we  all;  and  Lincoln,  laughing  quietly 
at  the  joke,  held  out  his  hand. 

"  The  scrutiny  was  long,  and  amused  us  yet  more  with 
its  seeming  earnestness.  The  lines  upon  the  young  man's 
hand  were  studied  over,  and  his  face  perused  as  if  it  were 
a  book.  At  last  the  fortune-teller  spoke : 

"  'Yours  is  a  mighty  destiny !'  We  all  laughed  outright 
at  these  words,  but  that  did  not  prevent  the  seer  from 
going  on.  'You  will  be  raised  to  honor  and  renown! 
You  will  be  President  of  the  United  States !' 

"The  fortune-teller  stopped  and  seemed  to  hesitate.  We 
laughed  the  louder,  calling  out,  '  Go  on !  go  on !' 

"  'I  see  a  river  of  blood !  There  will  be  war—  a  terrible 
war  between  the  North  and  South — while  you  are  Presi- 
dent; and — ' 

"'Nonsense — that's  enough!'  cried  Lincoln,  turning  off 
abruptly ;  and,  in  merry  mood,  we  left  the  prophet  of  our 
future  to  himself. 

"  Years  after  this,  I  heard  the  incident  recalled  by  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  as  a  folly  of  his  early  days.  We  were  then 
middle-aged  and  sober  men,  but  both  laughed  heartily  as 
we  dwelt  upon  the  recollection.*' 

The  old  man  finished  his  relation,  and  a  silence  followed 
until  some  one  muttered  : 

"What  a  pity!" 

It  was  the  saturnine  secessionist. 

"What  is  a  pity?"  asked  the  elder  passenger,  mildly. 

"  That  you  didn't  let  your  fortune-teller  finish  that  pre- 
diction, sir,"  said  the  saturnine  secessionist.  "  He  might 
have  told  Lincoln  how  long  the  war  would  last,  and  who'd 
be  whipped." 


322         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

We  all  laughed  at  this  sally,  and  our  driver  touched  up 
his  horses  with  a  double  crack  of  the  whip-lash.  Shortly 
afterwards,  we  came  in  sight  of  the  town  of  Crockett;  and 
the  old  friend  of  Abraham  Lincoln  alighted  at  a  respect- 
able mansion  by  the  roadside. 

And  as  I  looked  back,  from  the  stage-top,  scanning  the 
Texan  country  that  stretched  far  away  beneath  the  high 
hill  we  had  crested;  as  I  caught  a  parting  glimpss  of  the 
ancient  traveller,  who  had  related  his  story  about  Lincoln, 
in  hearing  of  a  "Lincoln  prisoner,"  I  pondered  upon  the 
mysterious  sequences  of  events  which  had  brought  us  to- 
gether on  this  Texan  highway.  Is  there,  really,  a 
DESTINY,  in  mortal  lives?  was  the  "star"  of  Napoleon  a 
real  planetary  indication  of  his  wondrous  fortunes  ?  and 
has  our  Illinois  back-woodsman  a  "star"  likewise? 

"  Git  along,  yer  lazy  critters !"  said  the  driver,  crack- 
ing his  whip. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GUIiP.  323 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

ON    THE   ROAD. 

SPRING  in  Texas  gives  a  promise  of  beauty  which  Sum- 
mer fulfils  abundantly.  Wide  prairies  and  broad  hill- 
slopes,  sprinkled  with  a  charming  variety  of  early  flowers ; 
grand  parks  of  woodland,  peopled  by  herds  of  wild  deer; 
grazing-ranges,  resounding  under  the  flight  of  cattle- 
droves;  live-oak  groves;  cedar-clumps,  and  "timber- 
islands"  of  every  description ;  meet  the  well-pleased  eye 
on  either  side,  as  the  coach  lumbers  on,  over  hills  and 
through  valleys. 

The  Texan  Flora  is  magnificent.  Dahlias  are  indigenous 
to  the  country  about  Camp  Groce.  Geraniums  grow  wild 
in  all  quarters.  The  blue  passion-flower,  (passiflora 
c&rulea,)  and  the  fringed-leaf  variety,  (passiflora-ciliata) 
are  discovered  by  the  roadsides,  and  the  ever-blooming 
rose,  (rosa-semperflorens,)  and  modest  primrose,  which 
Linnaeus  called  Primula  veris,  the  "  firstling  of  Spring/' 
peeps  out  from  the  green  meadows,  in  tints  of  lilac  and 
red.  The  sweet-jonquil,  (Narcissus  odorus,)  the  oriental 
hyacinth,  and  our  Northern  lilac  (syringa  vulgaris) 
flourish  in  the  low  wood-lands,  while  water-lilies  rise  drip- 
ping from  the  swamps,  and  the  shrinking  sensitive  plant 
(mimosa  sensitiva,)  expands  its  delicate  petals  under  the 
first  kisses  of  Aurora.  All  these,  and  an  infinite  variety 
of. other  flowers,  regale  the  wayfarer's  senses  as  he  jour- 
neys amid  half-reclaimed  wildernesses;  while  mocking- 
birds trill  their  oratorios,  the  Southern  oriole  and  black- 


324:          .  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

bird  tune  their  cantatas,  and  the  whippoorwill  joins  its 
plaintive  refrain,  as  the  twilight  shadows  darken.  Our 
sailor-prisoners  were  ever  on  the  alert  to  snare  the  rich- 
toned  mock-birds,  and  they  caged  many  beautiful  speci- 
mens of  the  red-bird,  to  bear  home  to  their  Northern 
friends,  as  trophies  of  Southern  captivity. 

But  it  would  require  pages  to  touch  upon  the  wonder- 
ful insect-life  of  forests  and  prairies;  wild  honey-bees, 
hiving  in  hollow-trees,  and  amassing  great  stores  of  mel- 
liferous sweets,  to  tempt  the  roaming  "bee-hunters;" 
wasps,  building  fortresses  on  high  oak-limbs;  striped 
spiders  (Salticus  scenicus,)  hunting  their  prey  on  the 
leaves  below ;  green  wolf-spiders  (lycosa  saccata,)  darting 
from  swamp-pools  on  "the  small  gilded  fly;"  tarantulas, 
hiding  their  hairy  ugliness  under  rotten  stumps ;  scor- 
pion-tribes burrowing  in  the  sands;  black  piJl-beetles,  or 
muck-bugs,  (an  American  type  of  the  Egyptian  Scarabeus 
sacer,)  rolling  their  dirt-balls  before  them,  under  super- 
vision of  some  gorgeous  king-beetle,  in  a  steel-blue  coat- 
of-mail,  green,  purple,  and  violet  wings,  golden-crowned 
head,  and  silver  antennas;  with  multitudinous  families  of 
bright-winged  Lepidoptera;  from  the  little  gold-dusted 
moths  and  tortoise-shell  butterflies — through  all  brilliant 
reflexes  and  quarterings  of  azure,  vert,  argent  and  or — up 
to  the  royal  enrichments  of  full-armored  chrysalides,  ri- 
valing the  curculio  rcgalis  of  Brazil,  whose  scales  of  sap- 
phire, emerald  and  ruby,  are  like  "  an  illumination  of  all 
gems." 

But,  I  could  never  weary  in  recalling  the  innumerable 
living-jewels  of  Texan  woods  and  fields,  whereof  I  caught 
but  transient  glimpses,  during  brief  snatches  of  liberty 
in  wood-land  walks.  Doubtless,  my  condition  as  a  priso- 
ner made  me  more  eager-sighted  and  receptive  of  at- 
tractive imagery  in  flowers,  birds,  insects,  and  even 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  325 

leaves ;  yet  I  cannot  but  remember  many  of  these  objects 
as  the  most  curious  that  I  ever  noticed.  I  am  sure  that 
Texas  must  be  a  mine  to  the  naturalist,  wherein,  by 
"  glow-worm  lamp,"  he  may  explore  new  worlds  of  painted 
and  breathing  beauty. 

Looking  out,  from  stage-coach  top,  into  vistas  of  Texan 
woods,  or  over  stretches  of  prairie,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
reflections  on  the  folly  which  now  constrained  the  aban- 
donment of  plough-furrows  for  cannon-ruts,  and  the  peace- 
ful germs  of  harvest-field-life  for  fiery  seeds  of  battle-field 
death.  Here,  by  the  hedges,  and  clambering  on  the  trees, 
as  far  as  one's  sight  may  reach,  are  leagues  of  vines,  put- 
ting out  bulbs  which  are  to  swell  into  myriads  of  grapes, 
that  shall  yield  their  purple  wine  only  to  sun  and  earth ; 
while  the  owners  of  them  are  pouring  out  richer  wine  in 
the  life-waste  of  a  doomed  and  desperate  cause.  Here 
are  buried  treasures  of  corn,  that  must  fructify  for  idle 
decay ;  here  are  herds  of  wild  cattle  that  may  perish 
before  a  drover  shall  claim  them;  here  are  hundreds  of 
square  miles  that  must  bear  no  usufruct  for  years  to 
come ;  and  all  because  a  few  demagogues  have  undertaken 
to  reverse  the  laws  of  nature,  and  to  declare  that  Slavery, 
instead  of  Freedom,  shall  be  the  corner-stone  of  our  Re- 
public. 

But  the  stage  rolls  on.  We  halt  at  Crockett,  the  capi- 
tal of  Houston  county,  for  a  night's  rest,  and  I  there  be- 
come a  cynosure  for  the  eyes  of  inquisitive  Texans,  who 
have  been  apprised  of  my  "Yankee"  antecedents.  Here, 
after  sound  slumbers  in  a  bed  whereof  my  Hessian 
guardian  occupies  the  "outside"  half — in  order,  as  he 
says,  to  "protect  his  prisoner  with  his  life" — I  rise  to 
devour,  with  good  appetite,  a  substantial  breakfast;  and, 
thereafter,  bid  farewell  to  my  comrades,  the  Smiths,  who 
are  to  pursue  the  highway  to  Shreveport,  while  I  must 


326          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

diverge  toward  Tyler  and  Camp  Ford.  So,  the  light- 
hearted  brothers  give  me  a  parting  hand-shake,  and  roll 
off,  in  an  extra-coach,  to  the  Louisianian  border,  there  to 
abscond  suddenly,  (as  I  subsequently  learn,)  and  make 
good  their  escape  into  Federal  lines  upon  the  Mississippi. 
Meanwhile,  with  my  Teutonic  conductor,  and  another 
traveler,  I  find  myself  in  another  stage,  on  the  road  to 
Palestine. 

Our  new  companion  is  a  Confederate  colonel,  on  de- 
tached service.  We  speedily  strike  up  a  free  conversation, 
and  I  discover  my  colloquist  to  be  intelligent  and  agree- 
able ;  but  it  is  not  till  we  spend  some  twenty-four  hours 
in  company,  that  he  becomes  enlightened  as  to  my  mili- 
tary status. 

"To  what  command  are  you  attached,  sir?"  inquires 
the  gentleman,  during  some  chat  which  renders  his 
question  a  pertinent  one.  "Are  you  in  General  Kirby 
Smith's  army?" 

"  No,  sir,"  1  rejply,  quietly — "I  belong  to  Gen.  Banks's 
department " 

The  Confederate  looked  at  me,  with  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion of  countenance.  "Gen.  Banks !"  he  repeated. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  rejoined,  with  a  smile,  at  the  same  time 
unbuttoning  a  shaggy  over-coat,  and  disclosing  my  Federal 
uniform-coat — "I  belong  to  the  other  side!  I  am  a  pri- 
soner-of-war, travelling  on  parole,  at  present." 

We  joined  in  a  laugh,  and  the  officer  remarked,  quickly, 
that  he  hoped  he  had  not,  unintentionally,  made  any  re- 
mark calculated  to  wound  my  feelings,  while  ignorant  of 
my  position ;  to  which  I  replied,  that  I  had  noticed  how 
singularly  free  his  discourse  had  been  from  anything  which 
could  give  offence ;  and,  with  this  mutual  and  somewhat 
Pickwickian  understanding,  our  converse  proceeded  as 
sociably  as  before. 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  327 

The  rest  of  my  journey,  through  Palestine,  the  capital 
of  Anderson  county,  and  by  way  of  Kickapoo  and  other 
towns,  to  Tyler,  was  rapidly  and  pleasantly  accomplished. 
At  Tyler,  I  was  presented  to  the  Provost-Marshal,  a  young 
gentleman  in  spectacles,  who  looked  like  a  Yankee  school- 
master, and  who  generously  informed  me  that  Confederate 
armies  were  annihilating  Federal  armies,  in  all  quarters, 
and  that  it  was  very  probable  that  Lincoln  would  soon 
sue  for  peace  to  Jeff.  Davis.  From  this  entertaining 
gentleman,  my  brevet-lieutenant  guard  obtained  a  wagon 
to  transport  us  the  four  miles  which  intervened  between 
Tyler  and  Camp  Ford ;  and,  parting  from  my  stage-coach 
acquaintance,  the  Confederate  colonel,  who  promised  to 
write  to  me,  I  was  bowled  away,  on  a  rough  board  seat,  to 
the  stockade  that  was  to  become  my  future  quarters  in 
Texas. 


328  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER     XXXV. 

CAMP  FORD 

IT  is  dusk,  when  I  enter  the  wide  gates  of  the  prison- 
corral.  I  have  parted  from  my  Hessian,  who  promises  to 
send  me  a  badge  which  belonged  to  valiant  Captain  Wain- 
wright,  killed  at  Galveston.  This  little  Teuton  seemed 
shrewd  enough,  but  is  a  desperate  rebel ;  a  thankless  dis- 
tinction for  any  alien  to  the  soil ;  since  it  is  a  fact  that 
"  Know  Nothing"  prejudices  are  still  quite  rife  in  Texas. 
"That  ar'  Dutchman,"  says  a  guard  to  me — "aint  o'  much 
'count  yerabouts.  We  got  no  use  for  Dutch  or  any  other 
furriner  in  this  yer  fight.11 

Stumbling  under  knapsack  and  blankets,  I  pass  several 
ten-foot-log  structures,  which,  from  the  hill  above,  where 
I  reported  at  Head  Quarters,  appeared  to  be  pig-pens, 
but  which  I  now  see  inhabited  by  Federal  officers.  Ar- 
riving at  the  hut  of  Col.  Nott,  I  find  its  bunks  all  occu- 
pied, and  thereafter  perambulate  in  divers  quarters,  seek- 
ing shelter,  till  at  length,  I  get  lodgings  in  a  demi-sub- 
terrene  "  shanty,"  whereof  Lieut.  Peck,  of  the  Twenty- 
Third  Connecticut,  whom  I  last  saw  at  Bayou  Boeuf,  is 
co-proprietor  with  Lieut.  Root,  of  the  Seventy -Fifth  New- 
York  volunteers. 

Next  morning,  after  being  invited  to  mess  for  the  pre- 
sent at  the  "  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,"  tenanted  by  Messrs. 
Nott,  Dillingham,  Crocker,  Johnson,  Dane,  and  Dana;  a 
snug  coterie  of  six ;  1  look  about  me,  on  the  "corral," 
and  "  prospect"  for  personal  accommodation  in  the  future. 


Estate 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  .  329 

Land  is  not  all  appropriated,  though  buildings  are  ;  so  I 
presently  "  preempt"  an  eligible  site  for  improvement  on 
a  lot  upon  the  "  Avenue,"  opposite  that  principal  hotel 
at  which  I  take  my  meals.  Thereafter,  I  make  a  build- 
ing contract  with  "Dawe  and  Hicks"  from  Kansas,  who 
bear  the  reputation  of  having  erected  the  best  house  in 
town,  and  who  agree,  in  consideration  of  one.  hundred 
dollars,  legal  tender  in  Confederate  currency,  to  rear  me 
a  palatial  mansion  twelve  feet  by  ten  inside,  with  a  good 
stone  fire-place,  and  a  substantial  clay  chimney.  So, 
then,  relieved  of  anxiety  as  to  shelter,  I  prepare  to  adapt 
myself  once  more  to  gregarious  prison-life. 

There,  are  many  old  friends  to  greet,  and  new  acquain- 
tances to  make.  Here  are  my  fellow-officers  of  the  "  Iron- 
sides," eleven  of  them ;  our  quarter-master,  Lieut.  John 
F.  Kimball,  having  died  on  the  3d  of  September,  last 
year  ;  and  an  ex-lieutenant,  Fry,  having  been  discharged 
as  a  citizen.  Poor  Kimball  declined  rapidly  upon  reach- 
ing Camp  Ford,  as  a  prisoner.  He  yielded  his  life,  after 
long  suffering,  and  was  buried,  near  sunset,  under  sombre 
clouds,  sprinkling  their  tears  upon  the  mournful  proces- 
sion which  followed  his  pine  coffin  to  a  grave  that  loyal 
hands  had  hollowed  at  the  base  of  a  branching  oak.  But 
as  our  comrade's  dust  was  mingled  with  Southern  earth, 
the  last  beams  of  departing  day  broke  forth  in  a  flood  of 
splendor;  cheering  survivors  with  golden  promise,  not 
only  for  the  spirit  which  had  passed  away,  but  for  our 
beloved  country,  toward  which  every  prisoner  yearned 
continually. 

The  death  of  Lieut.  Kimball  was  followed,  later  in  the 
fall,  by  another  and  very  sudden  summons  of  a  prisoner  to 
eternal  enfranchisement.  The  prison-grounds  had  not  at 
that  time  been  stockaded,  and  our  Federals  either  bivou- 
acked under  trees,  which  grew  thickly,  or  slept  in  a  small 


330          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

barrack-stack,  within  their  allotted  limits.  But  the  ap- 
proach of  winter  stimulated  an  effort  to  house  themselves 
more  comfortably,  and  details  were  formed  for  the  work 
of  cutting  and  drawing  timber.  Under  supervision  of 
guards,  outside-details  were  allowed  to  go  beyond  the 
grounds,  and  drag  or  "back"  their  wood  to  the  guard- 
line,  where  other  details  received  the  loads  and  trans- 
ported them  to  the  sites  of  log-cabins.  A  private,  of  the 
Twenty-Sixth  Indiana  regiment,  named  Thomas  Moore- 
head,  was,  one  day,  near  the  guard-line,  waiting  for  wood, 
when  he  was  abruptly  commanded  to  fall  back.  The 
Federal  soldier  was  aware  that  an  order  had  been  pro- 
mulgated, forbidding  prisoners  to  approach  within  three 
paces  of  the  line;  and  he  had  halted,  therefore,  at  a  dis- 
tance much  greater  ;  nevertheless,  in  compliance  with  the 
sentry's  command,  he  was  turning  back,  when  the  brutal 
rebel,  whose  name  is  remembered  as  "Frank  Smith," 
deliberately  fired  at  Moorehead,  the  shot  passing  through 
the  latter's  body,  and  shattering  the  arm  of  another  priso- 
ner who  stood  behind  him.  Moorehead,  fatally  hurt  in 
the  bowels,  died  the  same  night;  the  wounded  man  was 
left  without  surgical  assistance,  other  than  could  be 
afforded  by  a  hospital  steward,  captured  soon  after. 

This  cruel  and  unprovoked  murder  exasperated  the 
Federals  beyond  measure,  and  they  threatened  to  rise, 
massacre  the  small  guard,  and  sack  the  neighboring  town 
of  Tyler.  Happily,  the  counsels  of  Lt.-Col.  Leake,  of  the 
Twentieth  Iowa  regiment,  calmed  an  excitement  which 
might  have  resulted  in  a  rash  outbreak  that  could  only 
end  in  the  destruction  of  all. 

The  temper  of  Camp  Ford  custodians,  at  this  period, 
was  bitter  in  the  extreme.  "Hichardson's  Guard,"  a 
company  of  partisans,  who  had  never  known  real  service, 
but  had  signalized  themselves  as  kidnappers  of  conscripts, 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  331 

bore  no  good  feeling  toward  the  Federals  under  their 
charge ;  and  the  assassination  of  Moorehead  was  succeeded 
by  repeated  attempts  to  "shoot  a  Yankee."  One  morning 
a  sentry  suddenly  levelled  his  piece  at  a  soldier,  who  had 
merely  looked  at  him,  and  the  Federal  only  escaped  by 
falling  flat  on  his  face,  and  letting  the  bullet  whistle  over 
him.  But  the  boy  was  plucky,  and  gained  his  feet  with 
a  heavy  fragment  of  stone  clutched  in  his  hand ;  and  the 
next  moment  there  was  a  rebel  knocked  down,  while  our 
Yankee  fled  among  his  fellows,  and  could  not  be  recog- 
nized when  the  guard  turned  out  to  arrest  the  delinquent. 
Lieut.-Col.  Leake,  here  mentioned,  was  one  of  the  most 
genial  and  intelligent  officers  that  I  met  at  Camp  Ford. 
He  was  captured  at  the  battle  of  Morganza,  or  Fordoche, 
which  took  place  on  the  29th  of  September,  186S.  Pre- 
viously to  this  engagement,  Col.  Leake  commanded  an 
advanced  guard  of  Gen.  Herron's  force,  the  Second  Divi- 
sion of  the  13th  Army  Corps,  which  had  landed  at  Mor- 
gan's bend,  two  miles  below  Morganza,  on  the  17th  of 
September.  Gen.  lierron,  after  throwing  out  reconnois- 
sances  which  satisfied  him  that  the  enemy  occupied  the 
Atchafalaya  banks,  in  a  force  of  about  five  thousand,  re- 
mained near  his  transports,  while  Col.  Leake,  with  208 
Indiana  infantry-men,  Lt.-Col.  Rose,  of  the  26th  Ind. 
Volunteers,  with  24.1  more,  Major  Bruce,  with  150  caval- 
ry, and  Major  Montgomery,  with  25  mounted  infantry ; 
besides  a  section  of  the  1st  Missouri  artillery,  with  34 
men ;  the  whole  forming  a  detachment  under  command 
of  Col.  Leake,  took  possession  of  Norwood's  plantation 
grounds,  at  the  junction  of  Bayou  Fordoche  road  with  a 
road  leading  to  the  Atchafalaya  river.  Col.  Leake 's  in- 
structions were  to  engage  the  enemy's  attention,  in  order 
to  mask  operations  on  the  river.  Obedient  to  these,  the 
colonel  occupied  his  little  force  in  reconnoissances,  send- 


332          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

ing  his  cavalry  to  annoy  the  rebels,  and  advancing  his 
infantry  and  artillery  into  positions  which  might  attract 
their  fire.  Sharp  skirmishing  took  place  daily,  and  the 
Confederate  out-posts  were  frequently  driven  in.  After 
holding  the  junction  about  a  week,  Col.  Leake  shifted  his 
position  some  three  quarters  of  a  mile  to  the  Sterling 
plantation,  Botany  Bay,  leaving  his  cavalry  pickets  still 
at  Norwood's.  From  this  point,  the  colonel  made  divers 
demonstrations,  driving  rebel  pickets  on  several  occasions, 
and  skirmishing,  more  or  less,  daily.  But  Gen.  Tom 
Green,  was  in  command  of  the  Confederates  ;  and  though 
Col.  Leake  succeeded  in  arousing  the  old  fighter  to  action, 
he  could  not  conceal  from  that  fox-like  foe  the  weakness 
of  Federal  defences.  Of  this  weakness  our  Iowa  colonel 
was  too  well  aware  himself,  and  so  demonstrated  to  Gen. 
Vandeveer,  who  visited  his  camp  about  this  time.  But  he 
was  ordered  to  remain  at  his  post,  and  did  so;  the  conse- 
quence whereof  was  the  sudden  pouncing  down  upon  him 
of  crafty  Gen,  Green,  with  all  his  rebels;  who,  crossing 
the  Atchafalaya,  and  filing  through  woods  and  swamps,  in 
their  customary  Indian  manner,  appeared  abruptly,  one 
morning,  within  a  mile  of  Leake's  head-quarters.  By  a 
detour  through  timber-lands,  the  rebel  cavalry  cut  ours 
from  their  base ;  and,  about  noon,  the  men  of  Speight's 
Brigade,  900  strong,  under  Harrison,  broke  out  through 
cane-fields,  and  advanced  upon  the  Federal  reserves.  Col. 
Leake,  forming  his  lines  behind  fences,  received  the 
Texans  with  a  withering  fire,  which  drove  them  back. 
They  then  attacked  his  right  flank,  but,  soon  changing 
front,  our  gallant  lowan  met  them  there  with  equal  suc- 
cess. They  then  charged  on  his  left  flank,  where  the 
little  battery  was  stationed,  but  another  rapid  change  of 
front  again  drove  back  their  lines,  discouraged.  At  this 
moment,  a  body  of  cavalry  appeared,  advancing  from  the 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  333 

front.  Their  uniform  was  blue,  and  the  cry  rose  that 
these  were  our  Federal  pickets  falling  back  to  reinforce 
the  post.  But  that  report  was  false.  It  was  Gen.  Green, 
with  his  Texan  rough  riders,  clothed  in  the  spoils  of 
Brashear  City.  Heeding  them  not,  Leake  was  moving 
on  Harrison's  retreating  ranks,  when  another  rebel  bri- 
gade, posted  under  the  levee,  suddenly  showed  levelled 
arms,  and  demanded  the  Federal  surrender.  Col.  Leake 
then  looked  about  him,  to  discover  his  post  completely 
surrounded.  His  cavalry  pickets,  under  Montgomery, 
had  taken  the  "  back-track"  of  escape,  through  canefields, 
without  notice  of  discontinance ;  his  infantry  pickets  had 
been  flanked  by  the  rebel  march,  and  our  Federal  com- 
mander now  found  himself  hors  du  combat.  The  fight  had 
lasted  more  than  two  hours,  under  a  drizzly  rain,  and  re- 
sulted in  a  loss  of  14  killed,  24  wounded,  on  our  side, 
while  the  rebels  owned  from  45  to  75  killed,  and  from 
120  to  145  wounded.  The  prisoners,  upon  surrender, 
were  marched  across  the  Atchafalaya,  and  thereafter 
found  their  way  to  Camp  Ford.  Thus,  through  agency 
of  the  same  rebel  forces — comprising  brigades  under 
Green,  Major,  Speight,  and  Mouton,  Col.  Leake  and  myself 
were  introduced  to  prison-relation  ship  in  Texas. 

The  industrial  resources  of  Camp  Ford,  or  "Ford  City," 
as  we  called  it,  are  turned  to  notable  account.  With  a 
half-dozen  axes  and  hatchets,  three  spades,  a  dull  saw, 
and  our  jack-knifes,  we  contrive  to  multiply  tools,  erect 
machinery,  and  establish  manufactures,  agriculture,  and 
the  mechanical  arts.  Supernumerary  knife-blades  are 
forged  into  chisels ;  a  stray  file  is  sharpened  into  a  centre- 
bit  ;  lathes  are  built,  with  foot-boards  and  hand-wheels- 
In  spite  of  all  obstacles,  Yankee  ingenuity  finds  means  to 
assert  itself,  and  the  long  hours  of  our  imprisonment  are 


334:  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

whiled  away  by  many  shrewd  workers,  with  no  small  re- 
turns of  pecuniary  profit  to  themselves. 

Here,  near  the  great  gate,  under  most  dexterous  digits 
of  Master's  Mate  Fowler,  a  sea-genius,  who  knows  the 
forest  trees  as  well  as  he  does  the  cross-trees,  we  have 
basket-weaving  out  of  peelings  of  ash  wood,  and  chair- 
making  from  grape-vines ;  not  to  speak  of  table-mats, 
drinking-cups,  and  chess-men,  carved  with  a  pocket-knife. 
Not  many  paces  off,  sign-marked  by  upright  frame-work 
of  a  wooden  ash-filterer,  our  chemical  laboratory  is  seen, 
where  Citizen  Haley,  much  travelled  and  Spanish-talking, 
beguiles  captivity  by  charitable  soap-making  por  los  po- 
bres.  Yonder,  by  "Big  Mess"  kitchen-house,  Lieutenant 
Woodward,  always  busy  and  useful  at  his  foot-lathe,  is 
turning  chess-sets,  which  are  models  of  artistic  taste. 
Stout  Sachem-Captain  Johnson,  of  "Fifth  Avenue  Mess," 
is  meantime  fashioning  a  splendid  arm-chair  for  his  naval 
brother,  Captain  Crocker,  of  the  Clifton ;  while  Lieute- 
nant Mars,  just  opposite,  is  stringing  his  new  banjo, 
wrought  from  ash  and  hickory.  Another  famous  lathe, 
revolved  by  wheel  and  crank,  is  wrought  at  skilfully,  by 
Engineer  Johnson,  a  Diana  man,  who  scans  his  work  with 
a  single  eye,  ('tis  all  the  rebels  left  him,)  while  he  deftly 
turns  a  goblet  out  of  holly-wood.  Down  yonder  street, 
the  potters  mix  a  reddish  clay,  which  constitutes  our  sub- 
soil, and  shape  bowls,  plates,  coffee  cups,  and  smoking- 
pipes.  Pipe-carving,  out  of  various  materials,  is  quite  a 
favorite  employment.  Rich  and  intricate  designs,  quaint 
forms,  and  really  beautiful  workmanship,  give  value  to 
these  tokens  passed  from  friend  to  friend.  Our  half-breed 
Cherokee,  Hicks,  a  nephew  of  John  Ross,  the  noted  chief, 
displays  his  aboriginal  handicraft  on  a  handsome  calumet, 
delicately  traced  with  flowers  and  tomahawks  in  relievo, 
which  he  gives  to  me.  The  elegant  ornamentation  of  our 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  335 

chess-men,  made  with  knife-blades,  is  marvellous  to  see. 
Two  exquisite  sets,  carved  by  Lieutenant  Morse,  as  pre- 
sents for  his  family,  look  like  Cellini  models  done  in 
wood. 

Thus  wears  on  the  time,  captivity  cheated  of  much  irk- 
someness  by  hours  of  well-spent  labor.  So  our  log  huts 
have  been  built,  their  chimneys  stacked  with  clay  and 
strips  of  oak,  their  chinks  and  bases  plastered  up  with 
mud,  which  hardens  like  adobes.  So  hoes,  rakes,  axe- 
helves,  tubs,  doors,  dining-tables,  bunks,  and  bedsteads 
have  been  wrought  by  skill  and  industry  from  literally 
nothing;  for  the  rude  materials  were  first  to  be  "packed" 
in  from  distant  woods,  to  which  we  could  have  access 
very  seldom,  under  pass  of  the  commanding  officer  and 
a  guard  of  rebel  riflemen.  Sometimes  lines  of  eager 
prisoners  stand  waiting  for  hours  at  the  great  gate,  with- 
out obtaining  the  desired  permission  to  go  out  for  timber. 

I  must  not  forget  our  newspaper — not  press-printec^ 
but  written  in  minute  and  legible  Roman  letters  by  that 
general  genius,  Captain  May,  who  draws  with  pencil,  as 
with  fiddle-bow,  to  excellent  conceit.  "The  Old  Flag" 
is  a  popular  sheet,  the  organ  of  American  opinion  at  Camp 
Ford.  Its  advertising  columns  show  the  thrift  and  pro- 
gress of  this  loyal  city  in  extreme  Secessia.  Doubtless, 
if  we  felt  ourselves  located  here  for  the  duration  of  a 
Trojan  war,  we  should  find  means  to  build  a  press  and 
cast  or  cut  out  types,  like  Faust  and  Guttenberg.  I  ven- 
ture to  affirm  that  it  would  not  surprise  our  rebel  guards 
if  we  built  paper  mills  and  steam-presses,  and  set  up  a 
daily  paper  in  our  corral.  Thoy  tell  us  now,  with  open 
mouths,  that  our  Yankee  armies  have  "right  smart  'o  sol- 
diers that  kin  git  up  sich  tricks." 

The  entours  of  our  camp — those  free  surroundings  out- 
side of  stockades — consist  of  prairies,  interspersed  with 


336          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

timbered  hills.  The  north  gate  of  our  prison  yard,  or 
"corral,"  gives  egress  on  an  open  plain,  where  sheep  and 
hogs  are  herded,  where  the  deer  and  wild  fox  rove,  and 
cattle  crop  scant  grasses.  On  the  east  are  woods  and 
cultivated  lands.  The  west  is  hilly,  crowned  with  scrub- 
by oaks  and  ash.  A  rebel  camp  of  cavalry  and  the  huts 
of  conscripts  hide  behind  those  eminences.  Upon  the 
south  a  hill  abruptly  rises,  with  a  streamlet  at  its  base, 
which  flows  within  our  southern  stockade,  and  is  called 
"the  spring."  The  rebel  commandant's  headquarters — 
two  or  three  log-houses — look  down  upon  our  corral  from 
that  hill.  A  gate  stands  midway  of  our  western  stockade, 
and  is  usually  open,  guarded  by  a  sentry.  Just  outside 
this  gate,  the  rebel  guard-houses  are  situated,  with  some 
cabins  used  as  quarters  for  the  guard.  One  frame  of  logs 
is  called  the  "wolf-pen."  There  offending  Yankees  are 
confined  on  corn  and  water.  There,  usually,  some  dozen 
rebel  conscripts,  apprehended  for  desertion,  are  immured. 
There,  also,  several  citizens  accused  of  "Union  sym- 
pathies" await  removal  to  the  provost  prison  of  Tyler,  or 
to  Houston,  where  they  can  be  tried  for  "treason"  to 
the  "Southern  Confederacy."  We  Federals  have  an 
unsuspected  method  of  communicating  with  those  "Union 
men."  Our  boys  take  turns  in  being  late  at  roll-call,  or 
transgress  some  other  rebel  rule,  and  so  are  ordered  "to 
the  guard-house."  This  is  our  "police  telegraph,"  and  it 
works  admirably. 

Our  "  spring"  is  a  wonderful  one.  It  gushes  out  of 
the  clay -bank,  cool  and  crystaline.  It  is  impregnated  with 
iron  and  sulphur,  and  the  water  is  a  perpetual  tonic.  We 
have  several  wooden  reservoirs,  to  which  the  prisoners 
resort  for  washing  purposes.  The  upper  one  contains  our 
drinking  water.  This  single  stream  supplies  the  wants  of 
near  six  thousand  men,  comprising  prisoners  and  their 


DEPAKTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  337 

guards.  It  threatened  failure  once,  but  Northern  inge- 
nuity sank  the  reservoirs  and  guarantied  perennial  sup- 
plies. Shrewd  Captain  Johnson,  a  notable  mechanical 
and  scientific  genius,  was  our  "Commissioner  of  Aque- 
ducts." He  trod  the  Sachem's  decks,  her  bold  com- 
mander, on  the  salt  sea,  but  has  proved  himself  as  useful 
here  in  "fresh  water"  matters.  To  him  we  owe  our  ear- 
liest turning-lathe,  and  he  inaugurated  chair-making, 
which  now  supplies  the  camp  with  seats  of  every  pattern — 
Gothic,  rustic,  cane-backed,  willow-woven,  grape-vine- 
wrought,  and  oaken-ribbed. 

So  "Yankees"  lead  the  "march  of  improvement." 


338          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER     XXXVI. 

A    CELEBRATION. 

I  ARRIVED  at  Camp  Ford  about  the  middle  of  February, 
1864 ;  at  the  time  a  caravan  of  wagons—  forty-five  in  num- 
ber— filled  with  negro  families,  was  passing  the  stockade, 
while  its  migrating  owners,  on  horseback  and  in  coaches, 
led  their  chattels  into  exile.  I  had  encountered  many 
other  corteges  and  coffles  on  the  road  ;  for  this  Lone  Star 
State  has  become  a  general  refuge  for  rebels  now,  as  in 
former  days  it  was  a  refuge  for  malefactors  of  all  descrip- 
tions. The  corral,  at  this  period,  was  not  so  densely  pop- 
ulated as  it  afterwards  became,  and  I  soon  grew  familiar 
with  its  bounds  and  inhabitants. 

The  latter  were  as  varied  in  character  as  they  were 
motley  in  appearance.  A  hundred  officers,  who  had  abdi- 
cated all  pretensions  to  rank,  as  they  had  worn  out  all 
insignio  of  it;  a  score  of  Kansas  privates  and  Louisiana 
"  citizens;"  and  a  couple  of  venerable  mules,  the  property 
of  two  gallant  sea-captains ;  these  constituted  the  popu- 
lation of  Camp  Ford  Borough,  as  it  was  called  in  the 
local  newspaper. 

Does  not  a  newspaper  follow  a  Yankee  march  every- 
where ?  So,  of  course,  Camp  Ford  possessed  its  journal ; 
though  we  boasted  neither  types  nor  printing-press ;  so, 
notably,  we  discussed  our  prison-affairs  in  editorial  col- 
umns, and  trumpeted  the  merits  of  our  small  wares  in 
flaming  advertisements. 

Captain  May,  of  the   Twenty  Third  Connecticut  regi- 


DEPARTMENT  OF   THE  GULF.  339 

xncnt,  who  had  been  "gobbled"  by  rebels  at  his  sick- 
quarters  in  Terrebonne ;  Captain  May,  whose  musical 
skill  brought  to  us  "Sounds  from  Home"  through  the 
deftly-fingered  chords  of  his  violin ;  Captain  May  was 
our  publisher,  printer,  and  general  advertising  medium. 
For  this  accomplished  captain  acted  as  "  admirable  Crich- 
ton"  in  the  entertainment-line.  He  could  write  a  sensa- 
tion-story, and  illustrate  it  with  his  pencil ;  and  he  could 
print  a  mezzotinto  in  writing-fluid  or  imprint  a  newspaper 
with  the  steel-pen.  So,  betimes,  we  presented  our  Con- 
necticut "confrere"  with  a  fiddle;  purchased  notably 
from  speculating  guards  for  a  hundred  Confederate  dol- 
lar-promises. So,  moreover,  we  furnished  paper-stock, 
to  the  bulk  of  a  half  quire,  or  less;  and,  on  the  score  of 
literary  antecedents,  I  was  myself  impressed  as  a  contri- 
butor to  the  "Old  Flag"  columns. 

Thus  I  became,  very  speedily,  one  of  the  leading  citi- 
zens of  our  Federal  "borough."  My  "real  estate"  en- 
titled me  to  be  classed  among  men  of  substance,  though 
corn-bread  diet  lamentably  failed  to  make  me  personally 
substantial.  But  it  is  sufficient  that  I  became  a  house- 
holder, and,  after  inaugurating  my  "log-pen"  by  Sabbath- 
services  at  the  door,  settled  down  to  the  monotone  ex- 
perience of  prison-life. 

But  "  public  men  have  public  duties,"  we  are  told ;  and 
one  of  mine,  presently,  was  to  figure  in  that  peculiarly 
American  entertainment — an  "  order  of  exercises."  The 
Twenty-second  day  of  February  drew  near,  and,  as  duti- 
ful scions  of  a  patriotic  stock,  we  resolved  to  "  celebrate" 
the  birthday  of  our  Pater  Patrie.  I  need  not  dwell  upon 
the  momentous  preliminaries  to  this  great  event.  Are 
they  not  written  and  published  in  a  fac-simile  edition  of 
the  "  Old  Flag,"  whereof  Captain  May  hath  copyright  ? 
Let  it  suffice  that  I  extract  from  that  enlightened  organ. 


340          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

(From  the  "  OLD  FLAG"  of  March  1st,  1864.) 
THE    CELEBRATION. 

"At  about  eleven  o'clock,  A.  M.,  of  the  22d  of  February,  the  buildings  and 
squares  about  FIFTH  AVENUE  and  42d  Street,  were  literally  blue  with  the 
"  Yanks"  assembled  preparatory  to  some  remarks  from  LIEUT.  COL.  T.  B.  LEAKS 
and  an  original  POEM,  from  LIEUT.  COL.  A.  J.  H.  DUGANNE. 

In  the  remarks  made  by  LT.  COL.  LEAKE  was  exhibited  and  communicated 
through  the  entire  assembly  a  flow  of  pure  patriotism  that  was  virtually  a 
powerful  appeal  to  all  to  imitate  the  glorious  example  shown  in  the  life  of 
Gen.  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  ;  to  remain,  in  the  hour  of  trial  and  darkness 
for  our  Good  Cause,  firm  and  true  to  the  principles  of  our  Government  and  to 
its  administrators — placing  faith  in  the  moral  power  of  the  Union  for  final  and 
complete  success,  till  its  restoration  shall  make  the  nation  mightier  than  it 
ever  was  before.  It  was  no  elaborate  and  prepared  Oration,  yet  lacked 
nothing  in  interest  or  delivery  from  the  fact  of  its  being  extempore. 

"  At  the  conclusion  of  this  address,  LT.  Col.  A.  J.  H.  DUOANM  arose  aad 
delivered  the  following  POEM: 


WHO  bids  me  sing  ?    What  theme  my  soul  dilates  ? — 
A  captive  whispering  to  its  captive  mates! — 
Can  Glory's  raptures  thrill  the  fettered  thralls 
Whose  flags  are  trophies  now,  on  Treason's  walls  ? 
Can  Valor's  story  nerve  the  shackled  hands 
Whose  broken  sword-blades  rust  in  rebel  sands— 
Or  lifted,  murderous,  threat  with  cruel  strife 
Our  Nation's  Union  and  our  Freedom's  life? 
In  vain  my  harp  the  charms  of  home  would  sing; 
Quick-gathering  tears  from  answering  eyelids  spring; 
And  all  the  heart's  deep  fountains,  softly  stirred, 
O'erwhelm  our  manhood,  at  that  one  dear  word: 
HOME  !  where  the  Wife  sits,  numbering,  day  by  day, 
The  long,  long  hours  that  steal  her  hopes  away; 
With  low-drawn  sigh,  and  voiceless  prayer,  to  wait 
The  step  that  COMES  NOT  to  her  lonely  gate ! 
Home !  where  the  children,  prattling  War's  acclaim, 
Through  mimic  trumpets  lisp  their  father's  name — 
But,  wondering,  pause,  to  note,  with  childish  fears, 
The  eyes  that  watch  them  dimmed  with  sudden  tears, 
And,  trembling,  ask,  of  lips  that  must  be  dumb, 
Why  Mother  weeps  ?— why  Father  will  not  come  ? 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  341 

Dear  Home !  sweet  Home !  how  many  a  warm  heart  beats — 

How  many  a  lip  the  loved  one's  name  repeats — 

Where  MAINE  exults,  on  stormy  Ocean's  brim, 

And  HAMPSHIRE  lifts  to  Heaven  her  mountain  hymn; 

Where  MASSACHUSETTS  sits,  like  matron  free, 

And  fair  KHODE  ISLAND  slumbers  at  her  knee; 

Where  dwells  CONNECTICUT,  midst  emerald  vales, 

And  where  MANHATTAN  spreads  her  snowy  sails, 

And  rolls  her  iron  chariot- wheels,  and  shakes 

Her  golden  garners  o'er  the  Northern  lakes ! 

God  bless  our  Homes !  from  East  through  boundless  West— - 

The  hallowed  shrines  of  all  the  heart  loves  best; 

From  blue  OHIO  to  COLORADO'S  marge, 

And  over  IOWA'S  prairies,  green  and  large, 

And  where  the  winding  ILLINOIS  outflows, 

Or  INDIANA,  with  silvery  harvest  glows, 

And  fair  ARKANSAS  skirts  the  Indian  land — 

And  where  the  Bed  Men's  loyal  wigwams  stand — 

There  sleep  our  Homes,  where  tender  hearts,  like  doves, 

Brood  o'er  the  memory  of  their  absent  loves! 

Awake,  my  Harp!    Thy  song  to  Heaven  aspires! 

A  Nation's  memories  climb  thy  sounding  wires ! 

Awake,  my  Harp !  and  thrill  with  loftier  sway: 

A  Nation's  Father  bends  from  Heaven  this  day; 

From  Heaven's  high  hills,  where  Freedom's  angel  waits, 

Closest  to  God,  within  the  eternal  gates — 

Where  Freedom's  martyrs,  wing'd  with  crimson  soars. 

Gleam  through  the  azure  fields  of  endless  stars ! 

From  Heaven  the  HERO  comes !— his  awful  mien 

Troubled,  yet  calm,  and  sorrowing,  but  serene. 

With  trembling  glance  his  kingly  shade  I  mark 

Break  through  the  storm  and  cleave  the  midnight  dark: 

O'er  ice-browed  Andes  leans  his  sworded  hand— 

His  rushing  footfall  spurns  Pacific's  strand: 

His  helmet  gleams  o'er  Alleghanian  snows  — 

His  lifted  shield  o'er  hushed  Atlantic  glows; 

His  breast  I  see,  beneath  celestial  wings — 

And  there— O !  there— my  bleeding  Country  clings: 

Clings  as  a  mother  to  her  first-born  son — 

Her  Hero-Child— her  god-like  WASHINGTOH! 


342  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Land  of  the  NORTH  !  where  lond  Niagara's  roll 
Voices  to  Heaven  a  free-born  Nation's  soul ! 
Land  of  the  NORTH  !  where  wild  Atlantic  waves 
Baptize  for  Freedom's  faith  the  sonls  of  slaves! 
From  all  thy  plains,  on  all  thy  breezes  borne, 
How  swells  the  exulting  song  this  sacred  morn! 
Where  Manhood's  shout  and  Childhood's  lisping  sweet 
The  dear-loved  name  of  WASHINGTON  repeat. 
By  tranquil  Hudson's  sunlit  waves  they  kneel, 
Where  Washington  first  turned  the  invader's  steel; 
On  TRENTON'S  plain  and  MONMOTJTH'S  field  they  pray, 
Where  Washington  retrieved  the  eventful  day; 
And  roll  their  hymns  through  Schuylkill's  wintry  go  rge, 
Where  once  arose  HIS  prayer — from  VALLEY  FORGE  1 

And  thou,  imperial  WEST  !  whose  sylvan  tongue 
Hymned  unto  God  while  Saturn  yet  was  young; 
From  voiceful  symphonies  of  waving  woods, 
And  solemn  calms  of  silent  solitudes; 
And  low,  soft  melodies  of  breezes  bland, 
And  rolling  harmonies  of  rivers  grand: 
Thou  Nurse  of  Empires !  at  whose  fostering  heart 
All  nations  drink,  and  all  have  equal  part; — 
Enthroned  on  harvests— girt  by  garners  wide—- 
Thy wealth  our  wonder,  and  thy  power  our  pride! 
Majestic  WEST!  thy  millions  kneel,  this  hour, 
To  praise  the  Eternal  for  their  Freedom's  dower: 
By  Mississippi's  shores  their  anthem  flows, 
And  where  Missouri  laps  her  mountain  snows; 
And  where  the  Ohio,  nursed  by  crystal  rills, 
Leaps  to  thine  arms  from  Pennsylvanian  hills; 
There  shalt  thou  kneel,  O !  mightiest  WEST,  and  teH 
Where  Washington  survived  and  Braddock  fell — 
When  the  young  hero  jarred,  with  mailed  hand, 
The  mystic  gates  that  sealed  our  sunset  land ! 

Land  of  the  SOUTH  !  whose  glorious  life  distils 
Balm  from  thy  vales  and  odors  from  thy  hills ! 
Thy  brow  all  sunshine,  and  thy  heart  all  fire, 
Thy  breath  a  vintage,  and  thy  voice  a  lyre; 
Land,  where  the  air  with  wilderiug  fragrance  swoons* 
And  all  the  woodlands  thrill  with  golden  rones; 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  343 

Land,  where  the  Morn  with  nectar'd  kisses  woos, 

And  where  the  soft  Night  weeps  ambrosial  dews ' 

O,  queenly  Southland!  crowned  and  gemmed  with  flowers; 

Thy  silken  dials,  that  mark  the  year's  sweet  hours; 

Lilies,  whose  silvery  moons  no  tempest  mars, 

Koses  like  suns,  and  violets  like  the  stars ! 

Thy  throne  the  summer,  and  thy  realm  the  soul, 

Whose  charmed  senses  own  thy  soft  control: 

All-beauteous  SOUTH!  thy  heart  must  share  and  claim 

Our  Father's  kindred  and  our  Hero's  fame ! 

Thy  myrtle  blooms  his  radiant  brows  to  twine— 

His  name,  his  heritage,  his  birthplace— thine ! 

We  yield  thee  this,  bright  Mistress  of  the  Sun!— 

Thy  bosoming  flowers  first  cradled  WASHINGTON  I 

VIRGINIA  !  from  whose  breast  the  milk  outran, 
That  nursed  with  godlike  strength  the  immortal  man; 
Whose  sacred  groves  enshrine  the  hero's  clay, 
Where  wondering  pilgrims  pause  and  patriots  pray: 
Virginia!  underneath  whose  trampling  heel 
Sceptres  lie  crushed,  andcrownless  tyrants  kneel; 
From  thee,  from  thine,  he  drank  his  impulse  brave; 
For  thee,  for  ALL,  this  broad,  free  land  he  gave ! 
From  thy  blue  hills  his  soaring  sense  he  caught: 
They  share  his  fame— but  all  the  world  his  thought  1 
Thy  gates  the  portals  whence  his  soul  outspeeds— 
But  all  the  earth  a  temple  for  his  deeds ! 
Thy  hero-chiefs  the  priesthood  of  his  shrine, 
That  all  mankind  might  learn  his  faith  divine: 
The  faith  that  shatters  thrones  and  sunders  chains, 
And  floods  with  Freedom's  tide  the  bondman's  veins, 
And  shapes  from  freemen's  souls  the  Almighty's  fanes  i 

O,  proud  Virginia !  loftiest  was  thy  trust — 
His  grand  example,  and  his  peaceful  dust 
Thou  wert  our  Mecca,  thou  our  Delphic  ground, 
Where  kneeling  seers  were  awed  by  voice  profound. 
Thee  clustering  round,  uptowered  the  shielding  States, 
And  young  Republics  kept  thy  sunset  gates  I 
From  Northern  mountains  and  from  Southern  leas, 
From  orient  headlands  and  from  westering  seas, 


344  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN 


Each  gladsome  breeze  new  freights  of  blessings  won, 
For  OLD  VIRGINIA—  Nurse  of  WASHINGTON  ! 

And  o'er  thy  hills  it  stoops,  O,  perjured  land  ! 

Through  Vernon's  shades,  and  by  Potomac's  strand; 

And  o'er  thy  vales  it  broods—  that  form  of  might, 

Parting  the  Storm,  and  towering  through  the  Night  1 

That  awful  Presence,  moving  from  above; 

Grief  on  its  brow,  but  in  its  glances—  Love  ! 

From  Heaven  it  comes—  through  Vernon's  gloom  descends, 

And  where  my  mournful  Country  kneels,  it  bends; 

And  softly  murmurs—  sheltering  her  head  — 

"What  ails  thee,  Mother  ?    Are  thy  children  dead  ?M 

She  hears  his  voice,  and  wakes  from  swooning  trance, 

Her  ebbing  life-tides  swayed  beneath  his  glance. 

That  mailed  breast,  that  soaring  helm  she  sees, 

And  the  strong  hand  that  lifts  her  from  her  knees. 

And  now  she  speaks,  whilst  all  my  fluttering  breath 

Waits  for  her  voice,  but  hears  no  word  she  saith; 

For  muttering  winds  ups  well,  and  thunders  roll, 

And  the  wild  tempest  frights  my  listening  soul: 

I  only  hear  —  around  Mount  Vernon's  dells  — 

The  roar  of  cannon  and  the  crash  of  shells; 

I  only  hear  —  upon  Virginia's  air  — 

The  drum's  wild  rattle  and  the  trumpet's  blare; 

While  charging  armies  shake  the  shuddering  meads, 

And  the  hills  reel  with  mingling  men  and  steeds, 

And  the  wide  land  with  mortal  wound  outbleeds  ! 

I  only  hear  the  shout,  the  curse,  the  groan; 

I  only  hear  a  low,  sad,  shivering  moan, 

Where  sinks  my  Country's  heart,  where  droops  her  head, 

And  the  great  Voice  demands,  in  whisper  dread, 

"What  ails  thee,  Mother  ?    Are  thy  children  dead  ?" 

Dead  ?  worse  than  dead  !    The  child  is  worse  than  dead 
Who  scorns  the  foant  where  first  his  fondness  fed! 
O,  worse  than  dead  !  whose  heart,  untouched  with  ruth, 
That  mother  hates  who  watched  his  tenderest  youth  ! 
Dead  !  worse  than  dead  !  the  impious  and  nnblest, 
Who  tears  the  mantle  from  his  mother's  breast  — 
Who  spurns  the  matron  crown  that  mother  wore, 
And  leaves  her  sorrowing  for  the  sons  she  bore! 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  345 

And  whence  the  gain  ?    What  heritage  survives 
O'er  wasted  treasures  and  o'er  squandered  lives  ? 
Are  Hatred's  heirlooms,  hurled  from  sire  to  son, 
More  dear  than  Loves,  that  linked  all  hearts  as  one  ? 
Can  sundered  hearthstones  gleam  with  ruddier  blaze 
Than  the  old  fireside  of  our  fathers'  days  » 
Can  alien  halls  the  old,  old  HOME  replace, 
Or  alien  births  our  kindred's  graves  efface  ? 
In  vain  Rebellion  strives!     Would  Balaam  curse? 
His  trembling  lips  God's  blessings  still  rehearse ! 
Would  Korah  rule  ?    The  earth  drinks  Korah's  cries, 
And  plagues  descend  where  Israel's  rebels  rise. 
Sanballat's  seed  may  drop  from  Judah's  stem, 
But  Israel  dwells  where  dwells  Jerusalem ! 
Samaria's  shrines  may  rise  on  rival  sod, 
But  Mount  Moriah  is  still  the  Mount  of  God ! 

O,  WASHINGTON  !  thou  drewest  our  faith  from  Heaven ! 
By  Heaven,  through  thee,  our  freedom's  life  was  given; 
Thy  goal  our  Union,  and  our  homes  thy  gift, 
To  thee,  this  day,  our  Nation's  Soul  we  lift! 
Thy  God  is  ours! — on  HIM  our  hopes  we  cast: 
We  trust  the  Future,  as  we  read  the  Fast ! 
While  Truth  is  steadfast,  and  while  Time  is  just, 
Thy  path  we  tread,  and  in  thy  faith  we  trust ! 
Though  man  be  weak,  we  know  that  God  is  strong, 
And  come  what  may,  the  Eight  shall  rule  the  Wrong  I 
For  ceaseless  still,  o'er  traitors  quick  or  dead, 
Our  Nation's  feet  their  destined  course  must  tread; 
And  where  the  ABE  OF  FREEDOM  heads  our  march, 
God's  Pillar  leads,  and  Angel  wings  o'erarohl 


346  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

BLOODHOUNDS. 

ABOUT  the  "ides  of  March"  exciting  rumors  came  to 
us  from  the  Red  River.  We  became  aware  that  General 
Banks,  with  a  new  and  powerful  army,  had  advanced  from 
the  Mississippi,  captured  Fort  De  Russey,  occupied  Alex- 
andria, and  was  marching  up  on  the  Texas  borders.  How 
our  pulses  beat  wildly  once  more !  how  we  talked  of  liberty 
by  day,  and  dreamed  of  it  by  night!  How  some  of  our 
gallant  fellows  resolved  that  they  would  strike  for  it;  or, 
at  least,  endeavor  to  strike  some  path  that  might  lead  to  it! 

There  had  been  much  "underground"  work  proceeding 
within  our  stockade  lines  during  a  month  past.  We  had 
speculated — or,  at  least,  numbers  had — upon  attempting 
a  stampede  from  the  prison  corral,  through  a  tunnel,  and 
thence  dispersing  to  the  woods  and  swamps.  The  project 
was  hazardous;  for,  though  an  escape  from  the  yard  might 
be  comparatively  simple,  there  was  an  "undiscovered 
country"  outside  of  our  camp  which  threatened  many  an 
obstacle  between  us  and  deliverance.  But  some  among 
the  leaders  had  been  prisoners  sixteen  months,  without  a 
word  from  "home"  to  tell  them  whether  their  dear  ones 
were  alive  or  dead.  Others  had  been  so  often  disap- 
pointed in  the  hope  of  an  exchange  that  any  risk  seemed 
preferable  to  awaiting  tardy  action  by  our  government. 

So,  big  with  secret  preparation,  weeks  had  passed. 
Alternate  gangs,  in  regular  reliefs,  were  digging  in  the 
tunnel.  Ground  had  first  been  broken  in  a  large  "she- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  347 

bang,"  or  log-house,  occupied  by  stalwart  Western  officers, 
who  rejoiced  under  the  soubriquet  of  "  Hawkeye  Mess." 
The  shaft  was  sunk  some  eight  feet  deep,  and  it  was  pro- 
posed to  tunnel  out  below  the  northern  stockade  to  a 
small  enclosure,  just  beyond  the  line  of  sentinels,  where 
we  had  buried  poor  Lieutenant  Kimball,  the  quarter- 
master, in  the  shadow  of  two  lofty  trees.  Our  work  went 
on  incessantly,  and  we  disposed  of  all  the  excavated  earth 
by  dragging  it  in  a  box  to  the  shaft-opening,  thence  trans- 
porting it  in  water-buckets  to  the  different  cabins,  and  de- 
positing it  in  fire-places,  to  raise  the  hearths.  This  pro- 
cess awakened  no  suspicion,  and  the  work  proceeded  from 
day  to  day. 

There  were  some,  however,  who  had  little  faith  in 
"underground  railroads"  or  a  general  stampede.  Lieut. 
Col.  Rose,  and  several  other  officers,  determined  upon 
attempting  their  enlargement  in  small  squads.  The ' 
scheme  was  confined  to  but  few  beyond  those  actually 
contemplating  escape.  I  did  not  feel  great  confidence  in 
the  successful  finale  of  this  undertaking,  but  accorded  it 
my  sympathy  and  help,  of  course.  An  old  box  coat,  a 
hundred  dollars,  and  some  odd  ends  of  disguise  were  my 
own  contributions  to  the  stock  of  preparations.  Six  offi- 
cers were  in  the  party,  but  this  number  grew  .to  fifteen 
before  the  "break"  was  made. 

Our  "  band"  and  "  singing  club"  were  wont  to  practice 
in  my  cabin,  which  was  a  more  pretentious  edifice  than 
most  of  our  "  shebangs,"  built  as  it  had  been  by  log- 
raising  "experts,"  and  by  "days'  work"  (as  carpenters 
say)  for  cash,  in  Confederate  currency.  Here,  before  a 
fire  of  hickory  logs,  and  with  a  dip  candle  or  grease  lamp 
upon  my  table,  covered  by  a  Mexican  blanket,  the  sons  of 
Massachusetts  and  Connecticut,  with  "bassi"  and  "tenori" 
from  the  Great  West,  would  meet  in  harmony,  with  a  vio- 


348          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

lin,  two  banjos  and  a  triangle ;  and  here,  "  soon  as  the 
evening  shades  prevailed,"  the  rafters  rang  with  "  Glory 
Hallelujah,"  "Massa'sRunn'd  Away,"  and  "  Rally  Round 
the  Flag,  Boys !"  rendered  in  such  vocal  thunder  as  no 
rebel  throats  might  ever  master.  Meanwhile,  recumbent 
in  my  hammock,  stretched  between  two  logs,  I  smoked 
my  calumet  and  mused  on  Northern  friends  and  fortunes. 

This  night,  however,  calls  the  "band"  to  other  quar- 
ters. It  has  been  raining,  and  thicJr  clouds  are  lowering 
still.  It  is  a  night  for  enterprise,  and  the  word  comes 
that  our  comrades  have  concluded  that  their  time  is  "now 
or  never."  So,  as  the  evening  darkens,  we  steal,  one  by 
one,  to  a  "  shebang"  hard  by  our  southern  stockade,  where 
the  "break"  is  to  be  made.  Our  would-be  fugitives  must 
creep  across  the  spring,  or  brook-bed,  thence  crawl  up 
some  thirty  feet  to  the  stockade,  and  then,  by  main 
strength,  lift  a  sixteen-foot  post  out  of  its  socket,  and  so 
separate  it  from  a  contiguous  one  as  to  create  a  gap  suffi- 
ciently wide  to  give  a  human  body  passage  through  it. 
All  the  while  a  line  of  rebel  sentries  guards  the  outside 
of  this  stockade.  The  tread  of  each  man,  as  he  walks, 
the  ringing  of  his  piece,  strike  momently  upon  our  ears. 
A  single  false  move  on  the  part  of  one  among  the  escaping 
prisoners-may  jeopardize  the  lives  of  all.  Should  a  sus- 
picion of  the  plot  be  entertained,  the  guards  may  all  be 
watching.  They  might  peer  through  all  the  interstices 
and  detect  a  moving  body  even  in  the  shadow.  If  the 
dirt  crumble  noisily,  if  the  uplifted  post  fall  or  strike 
against  another,  if  the  sudden  width  of  space  be  observed 
by  eyes  accustomed  to  all  "signs  of  woodcraft,"  woe  be 
to  our  venturous  comrades!  Half-a-score  of  rifles  may 
give  tongue  at  once.  Nay,  we  might  have  a  volley  fired 
at  random  into  our  midst. 

But  these  Yankee  boys  have  made  up  their  minds  to 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  349 

"take  the  chances."  One  after  another  they -emerge  from 
their  respective  cabins  and  rendezvous  in  the  rear  of  Col. 
Leake's  "shebang,"  -which  is  the  nearest  to  the  southern 
stockade.  Inside  of  this  hut  our  "band"  and  lusty  sing- 
ers have  already  collected.  They  tune  their  instruments 
and  voices.  They  strike  preliminary  notes.  At  length 
they  burst  out,  in  a  jubilant  African  chorus : 

"  Ole  massa's  runn'd— aha  I 

De  darkeys  stay — oho ! 

It  mus'  be  now  dat  de  kingdom  am  a  comin', 
An'  de  year  of  Jubilo !" 

The  rebel  guards,  not  forty  feet  away,  tramping  their 
beats  in  mud  and  darkness  outside  of  the  stookade,  hear 
this  unusual  din  from  Col.  Leake's  "shebang,*  generally 
a  quiet  one.  They  peep  between  the  stockade  posts  and 
discern  nothing — remark  nothing  in  the  wet  corral  out  of 
doors.  But  presently  the  music — fiddle,  banjos,  triangle, 
voices,  all  combined  in  an  orchestral  "norther" — sweeps 
across  the  brook  gully  with  tenfold  vehemence.  The 
Yankees  are  on  a  musical  spree,  "reckons"  the  Texan 
"  Johnny,"  as  he  listens,  on  his  gloomy  post,  to  the  really- 
melodious  execution  of  our  vocalists.  Presently  he 
"orders  arms,"  and  gets  his  ear  in  closer  contact  with  the 
stockade,  wishing,  perhaps,  that  he  were  in  that  Yankee 
cabin,  listening  to  good  music  by  its  blazing  hearth, 
instead  of  being  an  ''outsider"  waiting  for  the  "first 
relief,"  and  shivering  beneath  his  ragged  blanket. 

Very  soon,  our  "  Johnny,'*  hearkening  to  the  Yankee 
banjos,  forgets  about  stockades  and  prisoners.  Quite 
unconscious  of  a  trick,  he  calls  out — "Give  us  Dixie, 
Yanks!" — and  presently  that  "patriotic"  melody  regales 
him.  "  Johnny"  is  enraptured.  "  Johnny"  joins  in  the 
refrain— 


350          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

.  "  0  we  all  will  sing  together — 
Dixie's  land  ! 

In  Dixie's  land  I  take  my  stand, 
To  live  and  die  in  Dixie !" 

Meantime,  covertly  stooping  through  the  gloom,  a  Yan- 
kee form  glides  from  behind  our  musical  "shebang."  It 
is  Col.  Rose,  doubling  his  six-foot  length,  as  he  crosses 
the  spring  and  crawls  on  hands  and  knees  to  the  stockade. 
He  carries  a  bag  of  flour  and  sugar,  mixed  and  burned  in 
pellets,  with  some  twists  of  dried  beef  and  hard  tack,  as 
provisions  for  the  road;  a  blanket  and  a  pair  of  socks  as 
extra  clothing.  Following  him,  creep  Captain  Adams 
and  Engineer  Mars,  and,  one  by  one,  a  dozen  other  aspi- 
rants for  liberty,  each  with  his  little  bundle  and  big 
stick — time-honored  helps  to  fugitives  in  Dixie's  land. 
They  gain  the  stockade,  and  lie  down,  in  shadowy  silence, 
at  its  base,  to  listen  for  the  sentry's  tramp. 

But  rebel  "Johnny,"  with  his  ear  inclined,  still  listens 
at  a  gap  some  twelve  feet  distant.  Meantime,  a  brace  of 
stalwart  "sympathizers"  with  our  fugitive  boys  have 
lifted  up  a  post,  and,  leaving  one  end  partly  in  its  socket, 
bend  the  tall  log  inward,  leaving  room  for  egress.  Round 
the  post  a  cord  is  fastened,  with  a  loop  outside.  Col. 
Rose  peers  through  the  aperture,  and  takes  one  step  past 
the  post.  Just  then  a  loud  burst  of  the  vocalists,  a  choral 
swell  upon  "  Dixie,"  rises  from  our  "  shebang."  The  long 
colonel's  figure  disappears;  another  glides  behind  him; 
one  by  one,  our  fugitives  dart  out  and  lose  themselves 
in  murkiness.  The  last  one  is  to  pull  the  cord,  and  thus 
draw  back  the  post  into  its  socket.  But  he  forgets,  or 
fears  to  linger,  and  flees  outward,  after  nis  comrades 

"Huzza!"  we  almost  shout,  mentally,  without  a  tremor 
of  the  lips.  "And  now  for  a  rousing  chorus!  Now  for 
'John  Brown'  and  'Rally  round  the  Flag,  boys!'" 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  351 

"  Have  they  escaped  ?"  "  Did  all  get  out  ?"  The  eager 
questions  pass  from  lip  to  lip.  Our  younger  captives  wish 
that  they  had  seized  this  chance.  Old  prisoners  wag  their 
beards  and  smoke.  Croakers  prophesy  misfortune. 

Two  hours  wear  on,  and  taps  have  sounded.  It  is  dark 
and  cloudy  yet.  Our  music  is  dispersed.  We  hear  the 
rebel  call  for  "second  relief"  to  turn  out.  Presently  a 
heavy  shower  descends.  We  think  of  our  poor  comrades 
drenched  and  wandering. 

"Happily,"  one  says,  "the  rain  will  make  pursuit  more 
difficult." 

"  Should  there  be  dogs — " 

Ah,  dogs!  the  negro-dogs!  the  bloodhounds!  the  man- 
hunters  ! 

"Oh,  there  is  no  danger  in  that  quarter!"  cries  a  young 
lieutenant.  "  Colonel  Allen  says  he  would  never  set  a 
dog  on  a  white  man's  trail." 

"And  I  heard  him  say,"  says  another  officer,  "that  a 
prisoner's  right  was  to  escape  if  he  could,  and  he  should 
only  use  civilized  means  to  recapture  him." 

"  That  speaks  well  for  Allen,  if  he  is  a  rebel,"  asserts 
another  speaker.  "  But  you  never  can  depend  on  the 
word  of  a  traitor,  gentleman  !  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  to 
hear  the  hounds  out  to-morrow,  -when  the  rebs  discover 
this  stampede." 

"What's  that  ?"  suddenly  asks  a  western  man,  prick- 
ing up  his  ears,  as  the  tramp  of  men  came  to  our  ears, 
through  the  door  of  the  cabin  which  was  wide  open. 

"Only  the  second  relief  going  its  rounds,"  was  the 
answer. 

But  at  this  moment  a  sound  of  some  wind-instrument 
arose  on  the  night  air. 

"That's  a  cavalry  bugle  !"  exclaims  a  young  infantry 


352         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

lieutenant.      "Wouldn't  I  like  to  see  Grierson  dashing 
down  on  the  rebels  here  1" 

"  Cavalry  bugle  !"  cries  an  old  dragoon.  "  It's  more 
like  a  cow-horn !  What  sort  of  a  call  is  that,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  means,"  responded  a  Massachu- 
setts captain,  captured  at  Galveston,  who  loved  the  rebels 
as  Satan  is  popularly  said  to  love  holy  water.  "  Cow-horn 
or  bugle,  it  means  that  old  Allen  is  a  cursed  liar,  and 
that  he's  going  to  set  the  dogs  on  our  boys — that's  what 
it  means  !" 

We  started  up  directly,  for  the  truth  of  this  observa- 
tion flashed  upon  us.  The  horn  continued  to  sound,  shrill 
and  loud,  and  presently  the  deep  baying  of  dogs  began 
to  answer  it.  We  looked  out  into  the  rainy  darkness, 
and  could  see  lights  moving  to  and  fro  on  the  hill,  at  rebel 
head-quarters. 

"They've  got  track  of  the  stampede,"  says  our  Massa- 
chusetts man.  "  See  the  pine-knots  dancing  on  the  hill ! 
That's  young  Allen  and  the  officer  of  the  day,  I'll  bet  a 
shad!  They're  mounting  horses  and  calling  the  dogs,  I 
tell  you." 

And  to  this  conclusion  we  all  arrived,  without  contra- 
diction; for  a  jargon  of  oaths  and  exclamations  sounded 
on  the  hill,  and  at  the  guard-house  gate ;  while  the  horn 
was  wound  incessantly,  and  dogs  barked  furiously.  In  a 
few  moments,  we  could  see,  by  the  glare  of  pine-knots 
outside  the  stockade,  a  number  of  mounted  men  riding 
down  the  road,  followed  by  a  pack  of  hounds.  We  began 
to  fear  that  it  was  all  over  with  our  fugitive  comrades. 

That  night  was  an  anxious  one  to  many  in  the  corral. 
Rain  poured  down,  at  intervals,  in  torrents ;  the  thunder 
rolled;  the  lightning  flashed  so  vividly,  and  with  such 
rapidity,  that  it  seemed  like  an  unbroken  cannonade.  I 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  353 

lay  awake,  in  my  hammock,  thinking  of  the  dreary  night, 
as  I  listened  to  dashing  floods  upon  my  cabin  roof. 

At  roll-call,  next  morning,  Lieutenant  Ross,  a  rebel 
officer,  "whose  heart  was  more  in  his  vine-yards  and  grape- 
vines than  in  politics  or  camps,  read  off  the  list  of  pri- 
soners. Whenever  the  name  of  an  "  absconded"  one  was 
reached,  some  wag  would  shout  out  "furloughed,"  or  "  on 
leave,"  while,  as  the  number  swelled,  this  poor  lieute- 
nant's eyes  grew  larger  with  astonishment.  We  thought 
the  rebel  commandant's  shrewd  son,  Lieutenant  Allen, 
had  departed  with  the  hounds,  but  he  appeared  before 
roll-call  was  over,  and  began  to  check  the  absentees.  I 
can  recall  his  look  of  ludricrous  dismay  when  fifteen  offi- 
cers were  reported  "missing."  "Fifteen — !"  He  closed 
his  comments  with  a  Southern  oath,  and  then,  like  a  true 
"  Christian  gentleman,"  sprang  on  his  horse  and  rode  away 
for  a  new  pack  of  bloodhounds. 

We  learned  soon  that  our  boys  had  a  start  of  nearly 
thirteen  hours.  The  bush  had  been  beaten  with  men  and 
dogs;  but  the  pack  was  put  speedily  at  fault,  it  appeared, 
by  the  rain,  and  no  traces  of  the  runaways  had  been 
found.  We  gathered  news  by  scraps  from  friendly  guards 
or  growling  sentinels.  It  seemed  that  the  stampede  was 
discovered  scarcely  fifteen  minutes  after  it  took  place. 
The  new  relief  had  passed,  the  sergeant  carrying  a  lan- 
tern, and  its  light,  reflecting  on  the  stockade,  revealed 
the  post  displaced,  with  a  rope  hanging  from  it.  The  be- 
wildered sentry  could  explain  nothing ;  his  muddy  brains 
were  still  full  of  "  Dixie,"  which  our  courteous  Yankee 
band  had  played  for  him;  so  "Johnny"  was  "toted"  to 
the  guard-house,  there  to  answer  for  his  lack  of  vigilance. 

But  now  the  rain  had  ceased;  the  clouds  disappeared; 
a  Southern  sun  rode  high.  We  heard  the  tramp  of  horses. 
Lieutenant  Allen  and  another  rebel  officer,  and  half-a- 


354          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

dozen  mounted  privates,  armed  with  guns  and  pistols, 
rode  off  swiftly  from  headquarters.  In  advance  gallopped 
"  Chilicothe." 

"Chilicothe"  was  an  "  expert"  among  rebel  scouts  and 
forest-men.  It  was  his  boast  that  he  could  "  out-Indian 
Indians."  Never  was  a  truer  shot,  a  tougher  campaigner, 
a  more  unerring  hunter  either  of  beast  or  man.  Little 
cared  "  Chilicothe"  whether  dogs  led  or  followed.  His 
own  infallible  craft,  half  skill,  half  instinct,  guided  him 
by  sun  or  stars.  On  him,  this  prairie-scout  and  wood- 
land-spy, devolved  the  task  of  tracking  our  poor  Yankee 
officers.  White  man  on  white  man's  trail,  with  a  new 
pack  of  staunch  sleuth-hounds,  from  Tyler,  made  up  a 
pleasant  hunt  for  rebel  officers.  We  saw  them  set  off  at 
a  canter,  and  awaited  anxiously  that  day's  developments. 

Night  came  again,  and  with  its  shadows  came  some 
three  or  four  poor  Yankee  officers,  recaptured,  fatigued 
and  leg-weary.  Col.  Rose  was  one  of  them,  and  Lieut. 
Lyons,  of  my  regiment,  whose  rosy  face  bore  sundry 
weather-marks.  They  had  been  floundering  all  the  night 
in  swamps;  had  gained  a  score  of  miles,  and  lain  down 
for  a  nap,  to  be  awakened  by  the  voice  of  "Chilicothe" 
calling  his  hounds.  Next  day,  another  batch  of  runaways 
arrived;  on  the  third,  more  were  captured;  till,  at  length, 
thirteen  rejoined  their  bantering  messes.  All  had  been 
run  down  by  "Chilicothe"  and  the  dogs.  All  were  in 
woful  plight;  their  scanty  clothing  shredded  off  by  con- 
tact with  the  thickets;  their  feet  and  hands  sore  and 
wounded ;  their  skin  scratched  in  a  hundred  places.  They 
had  lost  their  route ;  had  doubled  on  their  trail ;  had  va- 
gabonded from  a  score  to  sixty  miles ;  and  yet  not  one 
had  crossed  the  Sabine,  which  was  scarcely  one  day's 
march  from  camp.  So  much  for  the  stampede. 

Yet  two  of  the  fifteen  escaped,  in  spite  of  dogs  and 


DEPARTMENT  OP   THE  GULP.  355 

"  Chilicothe."  They  lost  their  clothing,  food,  and  even 
their  canteens  ;  but,  with  dogged  obstinacy,  kept  the 
swamps,  emerging  only  in  the  night,  to  glean  acorn-field. 
Thus,  for  days  and  nights,  and  weeks,  they  plodded  for- 
ward, till  the  Louisiana  line  was  reached,  and  Red  River. 
We  heard  from  them,  at  last,  through  prisoners  taken  at 
the  fatal  fight  of  Mansfield.  They  had  gained  the  Union 
lines,  on  Red  River,  some  days  before  the  battle,  and 
were  forwarded  to  New  Orleans  in  safety.  Afterwards 
we  heard  the  story  of  this  bloodhound  chase  from  many 
lips.  Lieut.  Collins,  a  fine  western  oificer,  was  nearly 
murdered  by  them.  He  had  stopped  to  rest,  when  the 
dsep  howl  of  dogs  apprised  him  of  pursuit.  Ere  he  could 
make  away,  two  rebels  rode  upon  him.  A  brace  of  six- 
shooters  were  levelled  at  his  breast,  and  the  accustomed 
threat — with  a  huge  oath — of  shooting  on  the  spot,  was 
flung  at  him. 

"  I  am  unarmed,  and  hardly  strong  enough  to  stand," 
said  Collins. 

Another  oath  was  hurled  at  him.  "  We'll  give  the 
dogs  a  taste  of  your  infernal  Yankee  blood.  St-boy ! 
smell  of  him,  boy  !  St-boy  !  Seize  him — shake  the,  Yank! 
Stuboy  !" 

The  furious  hounds,  thus  encouraged,  sprang  at  Lieut. 
Collins.  Their  glittering  teeth,  with  white  foam  gathered 
on  the  fiery  gums,  met  in  his  ragged  uniform.  He  felt 
the  tearing  of  his  garments,  and  expected  momently  to 
bleed;  when  the  rebels,  with  malicious  laughter  called 
off  their  hounds. 

"You  see,  Yank!  they'd  as  soon  eat  Yank  as  nigger! 
If  we  had  old  Kangaroo  Abe  out  yer  they'd  got  him, 
shore,  hide,  har,  and  tallow!  Now,  jes'  tote  yer  carcass, 
Yank,  or  we'll  shoot  yer  on  sight,  by !" 

So  marched  Lieut.  Collins  back,  thirty  miles,  at  horse- 


356          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

tail,  with  his  weary  pace  accelerated  by  curses.  And,  to 
tell  the  truth,  our  officers  themselves  "  swore  terribly" 
when  their  reminiscences  were  mixed  with  bloodhounds. 
To  fully  realize  and  appreciate  these  "dogs  of  war," 
one  ought  to  be  hunted  and  fugitive,  like  Lieut.  Collins  and 
his  compatriots.  While  sinking  with  fatigue,  spent  with 
privation,  hopeless  of  escape,  to  hear  the  wolf-like  yelp 
and  long  hyena-howl  of  these  trained  men-hunters,  is 
something  to  experience,  even  for  "used-up"  Sir  Charles 
Coldstream.  I  warrant  it  as  a  "  new  sensation"  for  the 
most  languid  disbeliever  in  emotions.  Some  hounds  will 
track  a  human  being,  day  and  night,  for  weeks,  and  follow 
his  scent,  especially  if  it  be  a  negro,  hundreds  of  miles 
through  swamps  and  woods,  and  over  water-courses.  They 
run  at  times,  like  game-dogs,  smelling  the  ground,  at  in- 
tervals making  deer-leaps,  springing  up  to  touch  the  over- 
hanging leaves  and  branches  with  their  noses.  They 
double  and  dart  round  in  circles,  cross  a  stream,  and  then, 
with  a  few  sniffs  of  the  air,  rush  up  or  down  the  bank  to 
find  their  broken  scent  again. 

The  quickness  of  their  smell  is  quite  as  wonderful  as 
its  tenacity.  When  a  negro,  or  a  white  man,  is  to  be 
pursued,  the  dogs  are  simply  taken  to  the  trail  and  made 
to  nose  it.  On  the  night  of  the  stampede,  a  pack,  as  we 
discovered,  was  called  immediately,  and  placed  upon 
officers'  tracks,  just  outside  of  the  gap  by  which  they  had 
passed  through  the  stockade.  This  pack  of  hounds  was 
not  a  good  one.  Though  the  breed  was  fair,  the  dogs  had 
been  permitted  to  run  after  deer  and  foxes.  Consequently, 
though  they  opened  on  the  human  trail,  their  scent  was 
soon  diverted  by  the  tracks  of  animals  in  the  miry  woods 
and  fields.  This  was  the  reason  the  nocturnal  hunt  had 
been  unsuccessful.  In  the  morning,  a  fresh  pack  of  real 
man-dogs  was  procured  from  Tyler,  and  these  tracked 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  357 

our  officers,  even  after  eight  or  ten  hours'  rain  had  inter- 
vened. The  real  hounds  are  never  allowed  to  hunt  down 
any  game  inferior  to  man.  When  not  in  use,  they  are 
chained  up  and  kept  on  starving  rations.  They  grow 
fierce  as  tigers,  with  forced  abstinence,  and  their  scent 
becomes  acute  in  the  extreme.  Woe  to  the  hunted  man 
if  hunger-maddened  hounds  overtake  him,  in  swamps  or 
timber,  while  the  mounted  pursuers  are  too  far  behind  to 
call  them  off  or  moderate  their  savage  eagerness.  Woe 
be  to  a  fugitive  if  the  sleuth-dogs  once  taste  his  blood ! 


358  TWEN'iT  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

RED   RIVER   ADVICES. 

SHORTLY  after  the  abortive  attempt  at  a  "  stampede11 
chronicled  in  my  last  chapter,  Lt.-Col.  Leake  received 
sudden  orders  to  march,  with  his  officers  and  men,  under 
guard,  to  Shreveport,  there  to  be  forwarded  for  "exchange" 
to  the  Federal  lines  near  Alexandria.  Though  parting 
from  the  gallant  Western  men  with  regret,  we  rejoiced  in 
their  prospect  of  speedy  enlargement,  and  hoped  that  our 
own  would  soon  follow.  Meantime,  the  news  which  we 
received  almost  daily,  in  reference  to  affairs  on  the  Red 
River,  served  to  elevate  our  spirits  wonderfully. 

Mr.  Gushing,  of  the  "Houston  Telegraph,"  had  been  as 
good  as  his  word  in  extending  many  acceptable  courtesies 
to  our  officers.  To  Captain  Crocker  and  myself  he  sent 
his  paper  regularly,  and  its  news,  although  colored,  of 
course,  by  rebel  sympathies,  was  usually  very  reliable. 
I  was  indebted,  subsequently,  likewise,  to  this  editorial 
friend,  for  a  welcome  gift  of  a  real  treasure  to  prisoners — 
a  half-ream  of  good  writing-paper,  which  not  only  re- 
plenished my  own  exhausted  stock,  but  served  to  supply 
my  comrades  with  a  medium  for  conveying  their  thoughts 
to  the  beloved  ones  at  home.  I  shall  pleasantly  recall  the 
kindness  of  Mr.  Gushing,  in  this  and  other  disinterested 
attentions  toward  a  stranger  and  prisoner,  as  a  guaranty 
that  his  heart  is  right,  whatever  may  be  the  errors  of  his 
head  upon  the  questions  which  make  up  our  conflict  of 
opinion.  The  "amenities  of  literature"  were  happily 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  359 

illustrated  to  me,  through  such  intercourse  as  it  was  my 
fortune  to  have  with  Mr.  Gushing  and  other  friendly 
spirits  in  Texas. 

With  my  accession  of  writing  materials,  I  found  myself 
enabled  to  transcribe  various  detached  jottings  and  journal- 
izings, as  well  as  to  take  down  the  verbal  relations  of 
fellow-prisoners,  concerning  many  interesting  events  and 
experiences,  which  the  limits  of  this  book  will  not  permit 
me  to  include  in  its  pages.     Few  among  the  multitude  of 
incidents  connected  with  our  war  will  ever  be  told  vera- 
ciously  in  official  documents.     Reports  by  commandants 
of  posts,  or  colonels  in  command,  are  in  general  more  ela- 
borate than  correct,  and  yet  of  such  is  history  made.    No 
mortal  eye  can  trace  the  fortunes  of  a  single  battle-hour 
m  all  their  shifts  and  changes ;  no  single  record  of  a  con- 
flict, though  it  be  endorsed  by  the  commander-in-chief, 
and  vouched  for  by  an  army  corps  of  generals,  can  ever 
comprehend  the  fight  in  its  details;  the  sudden  dash,  the 
quick  recoil,  the  giving  and  disputing  ground,  the  fierce 
melee,  the  isolated  grapple,  the  death-shot,  the  last  agony ; 
with  all  their  infinite  phases  of  wild  excitement,  iron 
hardihood,  cool  forecast,  and  deliberate  purpose,  veiled 
and  canopied  with  a  lurid  haze  of  smoke  and  dust  and 
blood;  now  dense  as  thunder  clouds,  now  torn  and  rifted 
by  the  dreadful  shock  of  cannonry.     We  may  believe  no 
bulletin  reports  a  tithe  of  what  one  dying  soldier  beholds 
with  closing  eyes,  within  the  compass  of  his  regimental 
line.     It  is  well,  perhaps,  that  all  this  terrible  minutiae 
of  a  human  battle  should  be  left  to  the  imagination  to 
depicture,  and  that  every  fighter  should  be  so  involved 
and  swallowed  up  in  the  great  action  of  the  strife  as  to 
remain  quite  noteless  of  all  scenes  or  acts  beyond  his 
individual  part  in  the  wild  drama.     Nevertheless,  when, 
here  and  there,  apart  from  the  red-tape-bound  formula  of 


360         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

war-office  reports,  we  read  or  listen  to  some  personal  story 
of  a  soldier's  battle-life,  some  episode  of  peril  or  prowess 
in  the  fiery  heat  of  conflict,  we  are  fain  to  linger  over  the 
unstudied  sentences,  and  wish  that  history  were  wrought 
from  such  materials. 

So,  when  the  simple  reminiscences  of  soldiers  found 
expression  in  as  simple  words,  and  the  representatives  of 
many  a  fight  exchanged  opinions  around  our  log-house 
hearths,  I  often  gleaned  a  better  knowledge  of  the  battle 
or  campaign  than  I  could  gain  from  all  the  papers  of  the 
War  Department.  Here,  in  the  rapid  crayon-dashes  of  a 
personal  story,  I  realized  groups  of  cannoniers,  all  grim 
with  powder,  standing  round  their  gun,  and  charged  upon 
by  rebel  horse  ;  and  presently  a  double-quick  step  behind 
them,  and  a  blaze  of  musketry  from  the  supporting  infan- 
try column,  driving  back  the  grey-coats  in  disorder.  There, 
sketched  rudely  on  our  clay-floor,  with  a  pointed  stick,  I 
traced  the  flanks  and  centre  of  a  line  of  battle,  with  the 
enemy's  direction  of  attack  and  the  position  of  our  own 
artillery  and  reserves.  Meantime,  the  observations,  "We 
were  here,"  and  "  Thus  we  moved,"  and  "Here  the  rebels 
showed  themselves,"  with  quick  rejoinders  and  additions 
by  a  score  of  mutual  actors  on  the  field,  were  worth,  to 
one  who  would  compare  and  "inwardly  digest,"  much 
more  than  all  the  multiplex  reports  of  aids  or  adjutants 
on  regulation-paper. 

Meantime,  I  could  study  character  at  my  leisure ;  and 
there  is  a  variety  of  it  to  be  found  among  prisoners,  at  all 
times.  The  "wise  and  simple"  are  closely  proximate  in 
such  quarters  as  ours  were.  Nor  were  my  many  chats 
with  enlisted  men,  and  conversations  with  officers,  pro- 
ductive only  of  time-killing.  I  gleaned  food  for  after- 
speculation  in  much  of  my  daily  intercourse,  and  re  cog- 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  361 

nized,  in  the  attrition  of  mind,  devoid  of  conventional  lu- 
brication, a  healthful  stimulus  to  my  own  mental  faculties. 

Chsss-playing  amused,  labor  occupied,  but  social  con- 
verse was,  after  all,  our  chief  enjoyment.  There  were 
many  strong  intellects  among  my  comrades,  with  whom  it 
became  interestingto  discuss  both  men  andbooks.  Among 
the  "oldest  inhabitants,"  of  Camp  Ford,  were  Col.  Leake, 
whose  professional  schooling  and  quick  wit  made  him 
sound  in  argument  and  ready  at  repartee;  Mr.  Finley 
Anderson,  a  correspondent  of  the  New  York  Herald,  who 
was  exchanged  before  my  arrival  at  the  corral,  and  who 
subsequently,  I  think,  became  attached  to  Gen.  Hancock's 
staff;  Lieut.  Louis  W.  Stevenson,  of  the  "  Ironsides,"  who 
was  wounded  at  Brashear  City,  and  whom  I  had  left  at 
the  hospital  in  New  Iberia;  Captain  Torrey,  of  the  20th 
Iowa  regiment,  Col.  Leake 's  command  ;  and  many  other 
choice  spirits,  whose  discourse  wiled  prison-life  of  much 
of  its  irksomeness. 

Captain  Torrey,  with  his  regimental  brother,  Captain 
Coulter,  were  captured  at  Aransas  Bay,  on  the  Texan 
coast,  in  December,  1863.  He  had  reached  Texas  with 
the  expedition  that  landed  at  Brazos  Santiago  and  Point 
Isabel,  taking  Brownsville,  on  the  Rio  Grande,  soon  after- 
wards. A  force  of  land-troops,  disembarking  at  Mustang 
Island,  and  Corpus  Christi  inlet,  marched  twenty  miles 
to  Aransas  Bay,  capturing  there  about  one  hundred  pri- 
soners and  three  pieces  of  artillery.  Reinforcements 
following,  an  expedition  was  marched  the  entire  length 
of  St.  Joseph's  and  Matagorda  Islands,  which  lie  along 
the  Texan  main-land.  These  advances  accomplished  the 
seizure  of  Fort  Esperanza,  whose  garrison  succeeded  in 
a  timely  evacuation  of  the  place.  Our  troops  held  Mata- 
gorda Peninsula,  and  the  town  of  Indianola,  during  several 
weeks,  and  occupied  the  town  of  Lavacca  repeatedly. 


362          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

During  this  campaign  of  winter  and  spring,  inconsidera- 
ble damage  was  done  to  the  enemy,  and  many  casualties 
occurred  among  the  Federals.  A  worthy  and  intelligent 
sergeant  of  my  regiment,  accompanying  Col.  Kempsey, 
the  former  chaplain  of  our  "Ironsides,"  who  had  obtained 
command  of  a  negro-battalion,  was  drowned  in  one  of  the 
bayous,  while  swimming  his  horse.  Poor  Vassar  was  an 
earnest,  loyal  soldier,  and  had  earned  a  better  fate.  It 
was  during  this  period  of  coast  occupation  by  our  forces, 
that  Captains  Torrey  and  Coulter  were  made  prisoners, 
together  with' three  privates  and  some  citizens,  upon  the 
schooner  Gen.  Hansom,  taken  near  Lamar,  in  December. 
In  January,  a  Federal  corporal  and  three  privates  were 
surprised  on  the  prairie,  near  Lavacca,  while  they  were 
hunting  beef;  and  other  squads  of  our  soldiers  were  cap- 
tured while  "prospecting"  for  fuel  upon  the  shores  of 
Aransas  Bay.  Delays  and  disappointments  continually 
harrassed  our  forces.  Sometimes,  for  days,  no  rations 
were  provided  for  the  men,  owing  to  insufficiency  of 
quartermaster's  supplies;  and,  during  weeks,  the  poor 
fellows  shivered  and  froze  in  their  bleak  camps,  on  barren 
stretches  of  sand,  without  a  stick  of  wood  within  miles  of 
them.  The  whole  account  of  Federal  operations  on  the 
Texan  coast  may  be  summed  up  by  a  large  expense  of 
fleets  and  armies,  life  and  money,  in  holding  a  useless 
tract  of  sea-shore,  during  five  or  six  months;  balanced  by 
a  few  hundred  bales  of  cotton  seized  at  Brownsville.  The 
Bio  Grande  campaign,  like  its  "supporting"  campaign  on 
Red  River,  was  a  lamentable  waste  of  time  and  treasure. 
Generals  and  commanders  have  been  superseded  and  dis- 
graced for  much  less  disreputable  failures. 

We  have  now  to  speak  of  the  Red  River  campaign, 
whose  disastrous  results  speedily  became  felt  at  Camp 
Ford.  Col.  Leake  and  his  expectant  comrades  had  been 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  SC3 

gone  from  us  scarcely  a  week,  when,  instead  of  pleasing 
advices  concerning  their  "  exchange,"  a  very  different 
sort  of  news  arrived  to  dishearten  us.  We  learned  of 
the  battle  of  Mansfield.  Dispatches,  from  Kirby  Smith 
to  Col.  Allen,  our  rebel  post-commandant,  notified  him  to 
prepare  for  the  reception  of  three  thousand  Federal  pris- 
oners. We  were  indignant  at  this  outrage  on  our  good 
sense.  We  spurned  the  report  as  a  "weak  invention  of 
the  enemy."  But  it  was  too  true.  Corroborations  of  a 
woful  repulse  of  Gen.  Banks's  grand  army  of  invasion 
came  thickly  and  fast.  Conviction  forced  itself  upon  us ; 
and  bodily  proof  arrived,  soon  enough,  in  the  shape  of 
a  first  instalment  of  1186  Federals,  captured  at  Mansfield, 
on  the  8th  of  April,  1864. 

It  is  no  marvel,  at  the  opening  of  the  year  1864,  that 
Gen.  Banks,  Commander-in-chief  of  the  Department  of 
the  Gulf,  should  desire  to  twine  some  Augustan  laurels 
over  the  Csesar-like  baldness  of  his  administration,  thus 
far.  It  is  true,  he  had  the  credit  of  reducing  the  rebel 
strong-hold  of  Port  Hudson ;  and  it  may  be  that  his  ap- 
proaches, assaults,  minipgs,  and  forlorn  hopes,  necessi- 
tated the  surrender  of  that  place,  after  the  suggestive 
example  of  Vicksburg,  some  days  previous.  But,  with 
the  exception  of  Port  Hudson  conquest,  and  the  Teche 
raid,  our  General's  military  triumphs  had  not  been  bril- 
liant ones.  The  swoop  of  Texan  legions  on  Opelousas  rail- 
road lines,  and  their  menace  of  the  Crescent  City  itself, 
were  only  opening  moves  of  an  intricate  chess-game  which 
has  been  played  on  the  Trans-Mississippi  board,  since 
midsummer  of  1863.  Gen.  Tom  Green  and  his  tattered 
regiments,  repulsed  at  Donaldsonville,  which  Green  at- 
tacked just  after  the  capture  of  Brashear  City,  (and  where 
his  subordinate,  Lt.  Col.  Phillips,  lost  his  life  and  my 


364  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

sword),  posted  their  batteries  on  Mississippi  curves,  and 
waged  destructive  ambush-war  upon  river-boats  for  many 
a  month  thereafter.  Meantime,  reoccupying  the  rail-road 
to  Berwick  Bay,  which  the  rebels  had  evacuated  after  a 
month's  possession,  Maj.  Gen.  Banks  organized  and  dis- 
patched that  famous  expedition,  of  gunboats  and  trans- 
ports, which,  under  Gens.  Franklin  and  Weitzel,  were 
driven  back  so  ingloriously  from  a  mud-fort  at  Sabine 
Pass.  Subsequently  transpired  the  coast-wise  operations, 
which  nibbled  at  the  edges  of  Texan  shores,  till  they 
served  to  stimulate  the  organization  of  a  large  defensive 
force  through  all  the  State.  Then  took  place  sundry 
bloodless  explorations  into  Calcasieu  morasses,  begetting 
much  astonishment  among  vagrant  "Cagians,"  but  little 
result  otherwise.  Finally  loomed  up — "  graviter  commo- 
dus—"  the  Red  River  Expedition  of  1864. 

This  expedition  was,  without  doubt,  well-planned,  and 
effectually  preceded  by  organization  and  preparation.  The 
mortar-fleet  and  gun-boats  of  Com.  Porter  were  to  co- 
operate with  the  army.  Numerous  transports  carried  the 
troops.  Abundant  commissary  stores  and  munitions  were 
provided.  Veteran  regiments,  with  officers  of  tried  skill 
and  courage,  made  up  a  majority  of  the  forces.  What 
was  lacking  for  success  ?  Nothing — but  a  Chief 

For  it  is  unhappily  the  fact  that  Gen.  Banks,  however 
capable  as  a  financial  or  civil  executive,  has  too  little  of 
that  iron  in  his  nature  which  is  requisite  for  a  great  mil- 
itary leader.  Gen.  Banks  is  not  a  good  Commander-in- 
chief.  He  will  take  care  of  his  army's  subsistence,  and 
he  is  equal  to  an  intelligent  comprehension  of  warfare ; 
but  he  is  not  a  Dictator,  as  every  General  charged  with 
the  responsibility  of  a  Department  or  a  Campaign  ought 
to  be.  He  cherishes  the  suaviter  in  modo  to  the  neglect 
of  ihsfortiter  in  re.  Hence,  where  the  General  should  be 


DEPAETMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  365 

supreme,  we  find  the  staff  omnipotent ;  where  the  Com- 
mander should  ordain,  we  find  the  subordinates  over- 
ruling. I  need  not  dilate  upon  a  matter  that  is  patent 
to  the  army  of  the  Gulf;  but  I  might  fill  chapters  with 
testimony  which  shows  that  our  reverses  and  disasters  in 
Louisiana  have  been  the  result  of  wrong-headed  and  arro- 
gant intermeddling  of  staff-officers  and  other  inferiors, 
who  should  have  been  kept  in  their  position,  under  curb- 
reins,  and,  if  necessary,  under  the  whip  of  a  Commander's 
discipline. 

But  the  Red  River  Expedition  moves,  and  its  first  steps 
are  victorious  ones.  The  rebels  retire  before  its  fleets 
and  forces.  Fort  De  Russy,  with  an  iron-clad  water-bat- 
tery, surrenders,  after  a  brief  resistance,  yielding  garrison 
and  guns.  Alexandria  is  speedily  occupied.  Red  River 
is  illumined  by  Stars  and  Stripes.  Yankee  craft  crowd 
its  waters,  from  the  Atchafalaya  to  the  Mississippi  mouths. 
Amid  all  this  blazonry  of  Federal  success,  Gen.  Banks 
arrives  from  his  seat  of  Government,  and  prepares  for  an 
advance  on  Shreveport,  by  land  and  water. 

It  is  a  brave  sight,  this  march  of  our  grand  army,  on 
fine  roads,  and  by  a  broad  river,  past  the  beautiful  city  of 
Alexandria,  which  crowns  her  lofty  water-front  with  rich 
villas — the  homes  of  luxurious  planters.  Gen.  Franklin 
arrives,  preceding  his  army-corps,  all  reported  in  good 
health  and  spirits.  Gen.  Smith's  troops  defile  through 
Alexandria  streets.  Gun-boats  and  transports,  propelled 
by  steam  and  canvass,  move  gallantly  under  the  bluffs. 
Cane  River  is  crossed  by  a  pontoon  bridge.  Natchitoches 
is  occupied  by  our  forces,  under  Gen.  Lei.  The  rebels 
burn  their  uotton-bales,  and  the  smoke  thereof  becomes  a 
beacon  for  Federal  advance.  Gen.  Banks's  progress  up 
the  Red  River,  escorted  by  gun-boats  and  transports — 
saluted  by  cannon-discharges — is  like  that  of  a  conqueror. 


366          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Porter  precedes  him,  occupying  Grand  Ecore.  Porter 
selects  a  van-guard  of  gun-boats,  and  pushes  up  the  river 
toward  Shreveport.  On  the  third  day,  he  reaches  Spring- 
field Landing,  but  finds  that  the  rebels  have  sunk  a  large 
steamer  across  the  channel.  Porter  is  stopped,  but  he 
sets  vigorously  at  work  to  remove  the  obstructions,  and 
is  about  succeeding,  when  a  courier  from  Gen.  Banks 
reaches  him.  He  hears  "  unpleasant  and  most  unexpected 
news."  Our  "army  has  met  with  a  reverse."  In  fact, 
the  battle  of  Mansfield  has  been  fought,  and  Gen.  Banks, 
defeated,  is.  falling  back  to  Pleasant  Hill.  Let  us  trace 
the  BATTLE  OF  MANSFIELD. 

Picture  a  nearly  triangular  space,  broken  by  woods, 
fences,  and  fields;  its  base  a  long  fence,  running  from 
south-east  to  north-west;  its  lower  side  traced  by  a  line 
extending  westerly  to  a  line  of  woods  that  forms  the  left 
rect-angle,  as  you  approach  the  area,  by  a  road — the 
Mansfield  highway — which  intersects  that  area.  Fancy 
your  march  advancing  from  the  south,  through  a  narrow 
defile  of  the  woods,  and  suddenly  entering  on  the  com- 
paratively open  triangular  area  T  have  described.  This 
was  the  manner  and  route  of  march  of  our  cavalry  sent 
forward  by  Gen.  Banks  to  occupy  the  enemy,  who  were 
understood  to  be  in  force  on  the  road  near  Mansfield,  but 
who,  it  was  supposed,  would  not  make  a  stand  at  that 
place.  The  cavalry  rode  on,  through  the  woods,  until 
they  debouched  into  the  open  space,  called  Moss's  Planta- 
tion. They  left  their  supply  wagons  halted,  in  a  long  line, 
on  the  narrow  woodland  road,  while  they  galloped  on  and 
engaged  in  desultory  skirmishing  with  Texan  horse. 

Fancy,  now,  the  advance  of  our  Federal  infantry,  with 
some  artillery,  arriving  upon  Moss's  fields,  and  engaging 
the  enemy,  who  are  massing  between  the  plantation 


DEPAETMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  367 

and  Mansfield.  The  left  of  our  line  of  battle  rested  upon 
woods,  west  of  the  Mansfield  road.  There  Col.  Dudley's 
cavalry  brigade  had  been  skirmishing  with  rebel  horse. 
There  was  the  23d  Wisconsin  infantry,  supported  by  a 
section  of  Nims's  Battery.  On  their  right  stood  the  57th 
Indiana  regiment,  backed  by  another  section  of  Nims's 
guns.  Next  to  the  Indiana  men  were  stationed  the  77th 
Illinois  veterans,  not  in  line,  but  at  an  obtuse  angle,  re- 
tiring toward  the  right.  The  48th  Ohioans  came  next ;  at 
their  right,  the  19th  Kentuckians,  and  next  to  these  the 
83d  Ohio  volunteers,  flanked  by  a  cavalry  force  under 
Col.  Lucas.  This  was  the  first  line  of  battle,  just  within 
an  open  piece  of  wood-land,  from  its  advanced  left,  on  the 
Mansfield  road  to  its  receding  right,  extending  south- 
easterly. Before  it,  at  a  distsnc  of  a  hundred  yards, 
was  a  high  fence,  and  beyonu  th  i .  fence,  at  about  the 
same  distance,  rebel  lines  weiv,  .orming.  Behind  our 
line  of  battle,  on  rising  ground,  were  clear  fields,  in 
which  were  stationed  the  Chicago  Mercantile  and  the 
1st  Indiana  Batteries.  In  rear  of  these  batteries,  Maj. 
Gen.  Banks,  with  Gens.  Franklin,  Lee,  Stone,  Ransom, 
and  other  commanders,  took  post  at  intervals.  A  fence 
enclosed  the  base  of  these  fields. 

Now,  the  battle  has  begun  in  earnest.  It  is  nearly 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Our  troops  have  been 
marched  from  Pleasant  Hill ;  some  of  them  had  to  fight 
their  way,  in  skirmishes,  over  eight  miles  of  road ;  others  * 
have  been  double-quicked  more  than  that  distance.  They 
passed,  on  their  route,  long  lines  of  our  cavalry  force  at 
a  halt,  and  have  had  to  file  by  the  wagon-trains  that  oc- 
cupy the  narrow  road  between  Pleasant  Hill  and  Mans- 
field. The  fig*ht  waxes  warm.  The  foe  bring  heavy  guns 
up.  It  is  now  found  that  a  whole  rebel  army  is  in  front, 
where  it  was  fondly  fancied  no  opposition  would  be  made 


368          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

to  our  march.  Presently,  our  skirmishers  and  cavalry 
fall  back.  At  the  same  time,  a  movement  of  the  enemy 
is  noticed.  They  are  coming  at  double  quick,  to  gain 
the  fence  in  front  of  us.  That  must  be  prevented.  The 
word  is  given  for  our  line  of  battle  to  advance.  The  line 
pushes  forward,  through  heavy  timber,  and  over  broken, 
uneven  ground,  to  reach  the  fence.  It  is  a  race  for  posi- 
tion ;  but  our  side  wins.  We  gain  the  fence,  and  pour 
a  volley  from  behind  its  shelter,  that  carries  death  into 
rebel  ranks.  But,  meantime,  the  enemy's  right  has  swept 
in  contact  with  our  left,  which  was  somewhat  advanced. 
At  that  point  the  rebels  reached  the  fence  first,  and,  from 
it,  drove  back  our  infantry.  That  left  was  the  weakest 
portion  of  our  line.  It  should  have  been  the  strongest, 
for  it  was  to  hold  the  Mansfield  road.  But  when  our 
first  line  of  battle  was  formed,  the  19th  Kentucky  volun- 
teers were  shifted  from  the  1st  brigade,  which  held  our 
extreme  left,  to  the  centre  of  the  2d  brigade,  in  order  to 
strengthen  that  wing.  Hence,  in  the  2d  brigade,  our 
right,  there  were  five  regiments,  while  but  two  regiments 
remained  in  the  left — our  real  front.  The  enemy  massed 
heavily  on  these  two  battalions,  compelling  them  to  fall 
back,  just  as  our  right  won  the  fence.  We  maintained 
our  line  at  that  fence  nearly  two  hours,  delivering  volley 
after  volley  on  the  rebels,  and  repulsing  their  repeated 
charges.  It  was  not  until  the  enemy's  left,  extending 
beyond  our  front,  succeeded  in  flanking  the  position,  that 
we  fell  back,  in  order,  to  the  open  fields  at  our  rear. 
Meantime,  tbe  enemy's  right,  having  broken  our  left  flank, 
capturing  Mms's  Battery,  swung  to  the^  rear  of  our  first 
line  of  battle — occupied  the  road,  which  had  been  left 
with  only  a  small  guard  of  cavalry — and  then  prepared  to 
charge  our  boys  from  a  new  position. 

The  Mercantile  Battery  had  been  stationed,  as  before  in- 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  369 

timated,  at  the  north-west  edge  of  an  open  field  in  rear  of 
the  original  line  of  battle.  "When  our  two  left  regiments 
fell  back,  part  of  them,  together  with  some  of  the  contigu- 
ous brigade,  being  made  prisoners,  the  battery  shifted  to 
position  in  a  peach  orchard,  at  the  left  of  the  Mansfield 
road,  about  eight  hundred  yards  behind  its  former  ground. 
Two  regiments  of  our  cavalry,  that  had  retreated,  like- 
wise, before  the  enemy's  left  wing,  took  post  at  the  rear 
of  one  section,  which  began  a  brisk  artillery  play  upon 
the  rebels.  One  piece,  however,  was  soon  disabled; 
while  the  Indiana  battery,  which  had  occupied  the  right 
of  the  Mercantile  and  fell  back  with  it,  left  three  pieces 
to  the  foe,  and  became,  thereafter,  hors  du  combat. 

This  was  substantially  the  end  of  the  battle.  The  3d 
Division  of  the  13th  Army  Corps  had,  after  marching 
out  of  Pleasant  Hill  in  the  forenoon,  turned  into  camp 
about  two  o'clock,  P.  M.,  and  remained  thus  till  half-past 
three  o'clock,  P.  M.,  when  it  received  orders  to  advance 
toward  Mansfield.  This  force  did  not  reach  the  scene  of 
action  till  five  o'clock  P.  M. ;  when,  under  direction  of 
Gen.  Banks,  its  first  brigade  formed  on  the  right  of  Mans- 
field road,  its  second  brigade  on  the  left.  The  division 
was  then  moved  forward,  to  the  edge  of  the  open  field, 
over  which  the  enemy  was,  at  this  time,  moving  in  force, 
to  attack  our  wearied  troops  in  rear.  When  a  distance 
of  about  three  hundred  yards  intervened  between  the  re- 
bels and  our  new  line,  the  latter  opened  fire  and  drove 
the  former.  The  enemy  rallied,  and  was  again  repulsed. 
Another  force  now  massed  on  the  rebel  left,  to  flank  our 
right,  Lt.  Col.  Florey,  who  commanded  the  1st  Brigade, 
forming  our  right,  dispatched  Adj.  Watts,  to  inform  Gen. 
Cameron,  Acting  General  of  Division,  of  his  peril.  Not 
finding  Gen.  Cameron,  Lieutenant  Watts  reported  to  Gen. 
Franklin,  who  immediately  ordered  Col.  Florey  to  hold 


370          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

his  position,  assuring  him  that  the  enemy  would  receive 
due  attention.  Subsequently,  finding  his  flank  imminently 
menaced,  Col.  Florey  sent  Capt.  Wells  to  Gen.  Banks ; 
who  repeated  an  order  that  the  position  should  be  held, 
as  Gen.  Emory  was  moving  up  to  check  the  enemy.  At 
this  juncture,  heavy  firing  was  heard  in  front,  the  2d 
Brigade  fell  back,  flanked,  and  a  rebel  force  of  cavalry 
advanced  upon  our  left.  Col.  Florey  then  directed  his 
brigade  to  give  ground ;  when  the  enemy's  column,  that 
had  massed  on  our  right,  closed  in  suddenly,  and  the 
colonel  found  his  force  attacked  at  once  on  both  flanks 
and  in  rear.  Another  line  of  the  enemy  advanced,  mean- 
while, at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  All  the  late  battle- 
field was  now  overwhelmed  by  rebel  reserves.  The  whole 
Confederate  force,  after  sweeping  roads  and  fields,  and 
swallowing  up  regiments  of  our  previous  line,  which  had 
continued  their  resistance,  now  concentrated  on  Moss's 
fields.  An  unavailing  rally  of  scattered  forces  was  made 
at  the  line  of  woods,  but  the  mass  of  our  discomfited 
Army  Corps  retreated  in  wild  disorder  on  the  Mansfield 
road,  impeded  by  cavalry  wagon-trains.  We  had  lost 
the  battle. 

The  13th  Army  Corps  had  sustained  the  brunt  of  this 
conflict,  and  suffered  terribly.  Its  3d  Division  numbered 
no  more  than  1200  men  in  the  fight ;  its  4th  Divisiont 
under  Col.  Landram,  comprised  about  2000.  Col.  T.  E. 
G.  Ransom  commanded  the  entire  force,  and  bore  him- 
self gallantly,  till  he  received  his  wound  in  a  skirmish 
near  the  peach  orchard. 

Our  19th  Army  Corps  remained  at  its  camp,  six  or 
eight  miles  back,  upon  the  road.  This  corps  was  com- 
posed of  7000  effective  soldiers.  Behind,  not  yet  arrived 
at  Pleasant  Hill,  was  Gen.  Smith's  corps  of  9000  men. 
Yet  our  van-guard,  repulsed  at  Mansfield,  was  so  de- 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  371 

moralized,  it  would  appear,  that  the  entire  army  was 
obliged  to  retrograde,  the  Red  River  expedition  was 
abandoned,  and  our  fleet  and  forces  barely  escaped  an- 
nihilation at  the  hands  of  pursuing  rebels. 

Is  this  creditable  ?  Yet  it  is  a  fact!  And  it  is  a  fact, 
-slso,  acknowledged  even  by  Texans,  that  the  rebel  army, 
tough  nominally  masters  of  the  field ;  though  in  posses- 
sion of  guns,  colors,  and  nearly  four  thousand  prisoners ; 
#as,  in  reality,  terrified  at  its  own  temerity.  It  dared 
bot  remain  upon  Mansfield  battle  ground.  It  fell  back, 
at  the  very  same  time  that  our  Federal  army  was  retreat- 
ing upon  Pleasant  Hill. 

Why  was  not  the  19th  Army  Corps  brought  up  to  re- 
trieve the  fortunes  of  Mansfield?  Even  though  utter 
lack  of  generalship  had  attenuated  our  march,  through  an 
enemy's  country,  to  such  an  extent  that  Gen.  Smith's 
corps  was  left  far  behind ;  even  though  the  fatal  mistake 
was  made  of  underrating  the  enemy's  force,  and  deciding 
where  he  ought  to  fight  and  where  he  ought  not  to  stand ; 
even  though  mere  regiments  and  depleted  brigades  were 
thrown  forward  on  a  powerful  hostile  army,  without  sup- 
porting masses  within  immediate  handling ;  yet,  after  all 
these  blunders,  Mansfield  defeat  might  have  been  con- 
verted into  a  success.  Had  our  general  possessed  a  just 
knowledge  of  his  foe;  had  he  "plucked  the  flower  safety 
from  the  nettle  danger,"  and  brought  up  his  fresh  re- 
serves, to  give  the  rebels  a  Blucher  upon  their  half-won 
battle-field — Gen.  Banks  might  have  regained  his  ground; 
Anight  have  driven  the  rebels  to  Mansfield  village ;  in  a 
word,  might  have  pursued  his  march  triumphantly ;  but 
he  chose  rather  to  adopt  "  discretion  as  the  better  part  of 
valor,"  and  to  lose  instead  of  win  his  Red  River  campaign. 

The  pages  of  this  book  are  not  the  place  to  discuss  all, 
or  to  relate  all,  that  is  familiar  to  my  comprehension  re- 


372          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

garding  that  barren  march  of  our  army  on  the  Louisiana 
and. Texan  borders.  History  will  weigh  its  merits  and 
its  demerits. 

But  what  mighty  results  hung  upon  that  Red  River 
expedition  !  "  Texas,"  said  General  Magruder,  "  is  the 
Trans-Mississippi  Department !"  Texas,  during  years,  in- 
deed, was  the  gate  and  outer  wall  of  the  Confederacy. 
It  was  a  prize  worthy  of  our  best  steel. 

But  what  is  the  history  of  our  campaigns  against  Tex- 
as ?  We.  captured  Galveston,  the  key  city,  and  lost  it,  dis- 
gracefully. We  menaced  Sabine  City,  with  a  fleet  and 
army,  and  were  repulsed  by  two  score  of  militia  men. 
We  directed  our  columns  toward  the  Attakapas  prairies, 
and  penetrated  the  Calcasieu  with  gun-boats,  only  to  with- 
draw irresolutely  from  both.  We  threw  ships  and  forces 
on  the  southwestern  coast,  and  occupied  the  Rio  Grande ; 
pawed  at  an  edge  of  the  Nueces  wilderness ;  alighted, 
like  the  water-fowl,  on  Decrow's  Point ;  remained  inglori- 
ously  squatting  on  bleak  sands  during  a  winter ;  and  then 
returned,  without  accomplishing  anything ;  without  a 
single  raid  into  those  rich  interior  counties,  lying  coast- 
wise ;  Matagorda,  Brazoria,  Wharton,  and  the  populated 
bottoms  further  inland.  Yet  a  true  occupation  or  menace 
of  Central  Texas  might  have  kept  Red  River  clear  for 
our  expeditions  to  that  border.  An  effective  army  corps 
on  the  Rio  Grande  might  have  occupied  Magruder  with 
work  at  his  door,  so  that  his  famous  "plan  of  defence'* 
could  not  have  been  solely  devoted  to  eastern  frontiers. 
But  our  Federal  Commander-in-chief,  slowly  dribbling 
out  his  operations,  like  his  armies,  by"  piece-meal,  gave 
Magruder  and  Kirby  Smith  ample  time  to  consolidate 
their  several  programmes.  So  much  for  our  invasions  of 
Texas.  I  shall  not  discuss  the  "Generalship"  which 
directed  them. 


DEPARTMENT  OF    THE  GULF.  373 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

IMMIGRATION    AND   POPULATION. 

/- 

ONLY  a  short  time  previous  to  the  immigration  of  Red 
River  prisoners,  our  numbers  had  received  a  large  acces- 
sion by  the  return  of  more  than  seven  hundred  men  from 
Shreveport,  including  our  sailors  and  soldiers  who  had 
been  paroled  at  Camp  Groce,  and  whom  we  supposed  had 
long  since  been  forwarded  to  Federal  lines.     With  the 
Camp  Groce  enlisted  men  came  others,  who  had  formerly 
been  confined  at  Camp  Ford,  and  sent  thence  to  Shreve- 
port on  Christmas  day  of  1863.     Dismal  had  been  the 
experience  of  the  latter  poor  fellows;  bitter  their  suffer- 
ings during  a  severe  winter  in  a  shelterless  camp  near 
Shreveport.     Even  while  at  Camp  Ford,  before  being 
marched  to  Louisiana,  these  men  were  destitute  of  cook- 
ing utensils,  as  well  as  clothing,  and  could  only  prepare 
mush,  instead  of  bread,  in  pots  loaned  them  by  the  guards. 
On  that  cold  Christmas  morning  when  they  left  their  pri- 
son quarters,  cherishing  delusive  hopes  of  speedy  libera- 
tion, the  half-clad  and  shivering  fellows  were  obliged  to 
march  over  the  snow  and  ice  that  covered  the  roads.    Of 
the  six  hundred  who  started,  not  two  hundred  had  shoes, 
or  other  covering  to  protect  their  lacerated  feet.     They 
had  been  constrained  to  part  with  their  scanty  clothing, 
months  before,  when,  nearly  starved,  on  their  marches 
from  the  Mississippi  into  Texas,  they  gave  everything  not 
absolutely  necessary  to  decency  in  exchange  for  food 
wherewith  to  stop  the   cravings  of  hunger.     But  they 


374:  TWENTY  MONTHS   IN   THE 

were  American  soldiers — these  suffering  captives;  and, 
inspired  by  longings  for  liberty  which  almost  banished 
the  sense  of  pain,  they  trod  manfully  forward,  tracking  the 
road  with  bloody  footprints.  Two  days  after  their  depar- 
ture these  mournful  impressions  of  patriot  feet  could  be 
traced  on  the  snows  that  surrounded  Camp  Ford. 

Arrived  near  Shreveport,  to  which  place  they  were 
hurried  by  "forced  marches,  the  Federal  prisoners  were 
halted  at  an  ice-bound  spring,  and  thereafter  told  to  shel- 
ter themselves  as  they  might  in  the  open  fields  and  woods. 
The  arrangements  for  "exchange"  had  not  been  effected; 
so  they  were  notified ;  and  yet  no  provisions  were  made 
for  their  comfort  or  shelter.  Bare  sustenance  was  fur- 
nished them,  in  rations  of  meal,  with  occasional  beef  or 
bacon.  In  this  condition  they  were  placed  under  a  strong 
guard,  and  left  to  shift  for  themselves. 

No  one  who  did  not  participate  in  the  endurances  of 
these  brave  men,  can  realize  or  depicture  those  winter- 
months  at  Shreveport.  Some  of  the  naval  prisoners, 
warrant  officers,  who  were  confined  in  the  guard-house  at 
Shreveport,  were  subject  to  many  hardships  'and  priva- 
tions; but  their  sufferings  were  mild  in  comparison  with 
the  exposed  dwellers  in  that  bleak  camp  near  the  Four 
Mile  Spring.  Many  were  the  attempts  made  by  rebel 
emissaries  to  seduce  our  loyal  soldiers  and  sailors  from 
their  allegiance  to  the  Union.  The  seamen,  particularly, 
were  approached  by  every  inducement  which  it  was  in 
the  power  of  Treason  to  present.  They  were  reminded 
of  their  daily  cruel  life,  as  prisoners,  and  promised  posi- 
tion and  liberal  wages  as  workmen  oiL-Confederate  gun- 
boats. But  our  noble  tars  were  steadfast  in  fidelity  to 
their  colors.  They  had  seen  their  comrades  dying  of 
fever,  cold  and  famine.  They  had  been  marched  over 
snow  and  ice,  while  their  blood  tracked  the  path.  They 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  375 

were  forced  to  drag  fire-wood  for  miles,  in  order  to  cook 
their  scanty  rations.  They  were  shot  down  and  hunted 
by  bloodhounds  at  every  attempt  to  escape !  But,  God 
bless  them!  In  Shreveport  woods,  at  night,  a  score  or  so 
would  steal  off,  in  groups — under  a  clouded  sky — and, 
while  some  acted  as  pickets,  a  gray-headed  tar  would 
draw  from  his  bosom  the  "Old  Flag" — the  "  Stars  and 
Stripes,"  and  hoist  it  on  a  pole,  to  wave  in  a  fierce  "nor- 
ther ;"  while  the  full  hearts  of  his  noble  comrades  were 
relieved  by  a  hearty  hurrah  that  startled  rebel  sentries 
on  their  posts,  with  sudden  fear  of  Yankee  insurrection. 
Then  Jack  would  hide  away  his  flag  again,  and  creep  back 
in  the  gloom,  to  his  bed  on  the  hard  ground,  and  his  break- 
fast, next  morning,  of  corn-meal,  salt  and  water. 

When,  in  March,  these  hopeless  captives  were  again 
removed  from  Shreveport  to  Camp  Ford,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent their  recapture  by  the  advancing  army  of  General 
Banks,  they  presented  a  spectacle  which  beggars  all 
effort  at  portrayal.  Numbers  were  literally  naked,  save 
blanket  rags  fringing  their  loins.  It  was  like  an  irrup- 
tion of  squalor  and  pauperism  on  Camp  Ford.  Several 
log-houses,  which  they  had  built  before  their  exodus  in 
December,  were  restored  to  them,  and  a  space  of  about 
three  fourths  of  our  camp-ground  was  appropriated  for 
their  use.  More  than  half  their  number,  however,  re- 
ceived speedy  orders  to  take  the  road  again.  These  were 
the  enlisted  men  of  Lt.-Col.  Leake's  command,  who,  as  I 
have  before  stated,  were  paroled  and  reported  for  "ex- 
change." We  bade  farewell  to  them  a  short  time  previous 
to  the  first  arrival  of  Red  River  prisoners. 

But  the  influx  of  immigrants,  by  the  thousand,  which 
followed  the  disasters  to  our  armies,  not  only  absorbed 
all  the  area  of  "Old  Ford  Borough,"  but  rendered  ex- 
pansion a  public  necessity.  An  order  soon  came,  there- 


376    ,     TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

fore,  to  enlarge  the  limits  of  the  stockade.  This  was 
effected,  under  Col.  Allen's  direction,  without  much  ex- 
pense, by  the  ingenious  expedient  of  "docking"  eight  feet 
from  the  sixteen-feet  split  logs  that  confined  us,  and  using 
the  upper  halves  as  new  stockade-posts  to  enclose  the 
necessary  enlargement.  Our  population  swelled  rapidly  ; 
though  materials  for  building  or  shelter  did  not  augment 
proportionably.  But,  fortunately,  the  warm  weather  was 
at  hand,  and  our  new-comers  were,  as  yet,  in  a  healthy 
condition.  They  were  fresh  from  camp-life  and  service  ; 
captivity  was  novel  to  them ;  and  they  soon  constituted 
themselves  into  messes,  arranged  their  bivouacs  in  streets, 
and  began  to  amass  green  boughs  for  wigwams,  or  dig 
cavernous  vaults  for  troglodytic  dwelling.  In  a  short 
time,  Camp  Ford,  in  its  increased  proportions,  began  to 
wear  the  aspect  of  an  immense  bivouac-ground,  stretching 
from  side  to  side  of  the  low  stockading. 

We  had  cherished  "great  expectations"  of  our  agricul- 
tural interests  before  Spring  set  in.  As  gentlemen-far- 
mers of  the  old  "Borough,"  we  had  laid  out  kitchen- 
gardens  very  extensively.  "YVe  planted  corn,  rye,  lettuce, 
sweet  potatoes,  water-melons,  beans,  peas,  cabbages,  and 
red  peppers.  We  hedged  in  plots,  dug  drains,  made 
beds,  and  fixed  our  vine-poles.  A  propitious  season  and 
abundant  garden-sauce  were  much  prognosticated.  But 
when  the  ides  of  April  came,  and  with  them  General 
Banks — as  far  as  Red  River;  and,  when  three  or  four 
thousand  of  his  troops  came  some  hundreds  of  miles 
further,  breaking,  like  an  irruption  of  the  Goths,  on  our 
peaceful  prison-yard,  then,  alas !  our  vegetable  specula- 
tions were  nipped  with  "morus  multicaulis"  frost-fingers. 
Sandals  of  zou-zous,  boots  of  cavalry-men,  trampled  un- 
to eedingly  over  embryo  garden-crops.  A  clump  of  tall 
corn  long  remained  to  mark  the  spot  where  Captain  Ham- 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  377 

mond  used  to  dig  betimes  on  February  mornings;  some 
green  sprouts  peeped  out  afterwards  from  Capt.  Fowler's 
sheltered  beds,  hard  by  his  log-hut.  But  all  else  in  the 
agricultural  line  yielded  to  the  invaders.  Our  kitchen, 
gardens  became  a  reminiscence  of  the  past. 

Fancy — but  no !  one  cannot  fancy  a  resemblance  to 
our  grotesque  city  of  captivity.  It  is  a  place  of  Suc- 
coth — of  booth-dwelling  in  the  wilderness.  It  is  a  gipsy 
rendezvous.  It  is  a  wigwam  metropolis.  It  is  a  Tartar 
encampment,  without  horses ;  a  Boschman  village,  with- 
out oxen. 

Fancy,  then,  a  space  of  half  a  dozen  acres,  enclosed 
with  a  stockade  of  timbers  eight  feet  high.  One-sixth 
of  this  area  is  allotted  to  the  officers,  who  dwell  in  log- 
cabins,  erected  by  themselves  or  purchased  from  some 
former  tenant.  Each  cabin  hut,  or  "  shebang,"  as  we 
term  it,  shelters  and  accommodates  a  mess.  The  num- 
bers of  a  mess  are  various  ;  some  messes  have  no  more 
than  three,  and  others  muster  ten  or  twelve.  These 
"shebangs"  are  arranged  in  streets,  right-angled  with  a 
central  thoroughfare  called  "Fifth  Avenue."  Midway,  a 
platform,  covered  with  a  canopy  of  pine  boughs,  is  the 
market-place.  To  this,  each  day,  the  rebel  commissary 
sends  our  rations,  beef  and  cornmeal.  These  are  appor- 
tioned between  messes  in  the  ratio  of  their  numbers,  the 
meat  and  meal  being  brought  in  bulk,  and  given  to  the 
lymds  of  weighers  chosen  by  ourselves  from  our  own 
officers.  The  cattle  have  been  butchered  by  selected 
men  from  our  own  numbers;  likewise,  these  experts  en- 
joy "tit-bits"  for  themselves,  of  kidneys,  livers,  and  the 
like.  To  this  meat-market  comes  occasionally  some  ven- 
turous fanner  of  the  neighborhood,  allowed  to  be  a  sutler 
or  purveyor,  for  the  nonce.  Unfortunate  rustic!  Victim, 


378          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

* 

oftentimes,  of  misplaced  confidence !  His  sugar — held  at 
thirty  dollars  a  pound — is  scooped  up  by  a  dozen  hands 
before  he  can  identify  their  owners;  his  turkeys  fly  away 
incontinently ;  his  sacks  of  flour  are  passed  from  hand  to 
hand,  and  nevermore  return  to  him ;  and  woe,  0  woe  !  if 
the  poor  man  have  whiskey !  Our  Yankee  foragers  allow 
no  smuggling.  Neither  commandant  nor  guards  were 
ever  able  to  protect  a  sutler's  stores.  Perhaps  they  had 
no  interest  in  them.  But  we  counted  '•  Artful  Dodgers" 
in  our  motley  midst,  who  would  have  joyed  the  heart  of 
venerable  Fagin !  A  rebel  officer  of  the  day  once  had 
his  pistol  stolen  from  him  at  roll-call,  and  we  were 
threatened  a  deprivation  of  our  meat-rations  till  the  ar- 
ticle should  be  restored.  The  threat  was  never  carried 
out,  however.  Another  day,  a  rebel  officer  was  relieved 
of  his  pipe,  and  next  morning  found  it  in  his  pocket,  with 
the  "  Stars  and  Stripes  "  carved  on  its  wooden  bowl.  Our 
scamps  of  Yankee  prisoners  were  forever  playing  tricks 
on  rebel  travellers. 

During  early  prison  life  here,  swine  were  quite  numer- 
ous around  the  precincts  of  Camp  Ford,  though  bacon- 
rations  seldom  visited  us  within.  Our  boys,  however,  in 
going  out,  under  guards,  to  cut  fire-wood,  would  take  oc- 
casion, when  accompanied  by  some  "Union"  Texan,  to 
kill  a  fine  hog  or  two,  and,  cutting  the  flesh  into  quarters, 
"pack"  it  gracefully  under  sheltering  brush.  Shoulder- 
ing their  secreted  spoils,  our  foragers  could  pass  the 
sentries  unsuspected;  and,  then,  ho!  for  a  feast,  my 
masters!  One  day,  the  rogues  "toted"  in  a  long,  hol- 
low log,  from  which  a  fine  grunter  was  soon  "extracted." 
Captivity  is  the  mother  of  "  strategy." 

See,  then,  this  camp !  Besides  our  officers'  quarter, 
with  its  street  of  log-huts,  each  a  small  community,  every 
doorway  shaded  by  a  broad  verandah,  thick  with  ever- 


DEPARTMENT  OF   THE  GULF.  379 

greens ;  in  some  streets  these  verandahs  joining  midway, 
so  that  the  whole  space  between  the  houses  is  protect- 
ed from  the  sun,  which  only  strikes  our  porches  in  check- 
ered light,  at  sunset,  through  latticed  leaves ;  besides 
this  area  allotted  to  the  officers,  our  prison  habitations 
stretch  on  three  sides,  densely  populated  as  tho  tenant- 
houses  of  a  New  York  ward.  What  curious  abodes ! 
What  odd  contrivances  for  shelter!  Here  upright  sticks 
sustain  a  simple  thatch  of  leaves ;  there  poles  fixed  slant- 
wise, and  overlaid  with  bark,  compose  an  Indian  lodge. 
Some  householders  are  satisfied  with  blankets  stretched 
across  two  saplings ;  others  make  a  palisaded  mansion, 
eight  feet  square,  with  stakes,  inserted  in  the  earth,  like 
picket  fences,  and  covered  with  a  roof  of  twigs.  Another's 
dwelling  is  of  basket-work,  wrought  out  of  ash  wood  peel- 
ings ;  beyond  this  is  a  roof,  composed  of  oak-slabs,  slanting 
from  a  mud-wall  six  feet  high,  down  to  the  ground,  and 
plastered  with  a  layer  of  clay.  Hard  by  the  brook  are 
caverns,  excavated  in  the  clay  bank,  with  steep  earthen 
stairways  entering  to  their  subterrene  apartments.  Two 
parallel  avenues  are  thus  occupied  by  troglodytes.  All 
architectural  "styles,"  from  Gothic  arches,  shaped  with 
curved  grapevines,  down  to  nondescript  contrivances 
that  beavers  would  reject  for  domiciles,  are  here  elabor- 
ated or  improvised,  according  to  the  thrift  and  taste,  or 
lack  of  both,  which  may  have  characterized  the  squad  or 
individual. 


380         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER   XL. 

A  DAY  AT  CAMP  FORD. 

LONG  before  daybreak  the  camp  begins  to  stir.  There 
is  restlessness  among  our  prison  legions — home-sickness, 
doubtless,  in  the  souls  of  many  sleep-locked  hundreds  of 
these  ragged  citizens.  I  hear  the  hum  of  voices  arising 
out  of  morning's  grey  shadows;  the  crackling  of  new- 
lighted  bivouac-brands ;  the  matinal  twitter  of  red-birds. 
Presently  the  east  reddens,  and  I  see  the  morning  star 
setting  over  yonder  wooded  hills  outside  of  our  prison- 
yard. 

How  royally  the  sun  rises,  atmosphered  with  golden 
mist,  robed  in  purple  haze  of  woodland  exhalations  !  The 
camp  is  alive  and  vocal.  A  thousand  voices  call  to  other 
thousands.  Tatterdemalions  roll  out  of  burrowing  places, 
creep  up  from  caverns,  and  emerge  from  hut-openings. 
Red-capped  zouaves,  wide-breeched;  blue-bloused  cavalry 
men,  yellow-trimmed  ;  all  hungry-looking ;  sergeants  with 
service  stripes ;  jack-tars  in  poly-patched  trowsers ;  wa- 
goners in  broad  hats ;  barefooted  cannoniers — rank  and 
file  generally — hatless,  bootless,  shirtless.  They  swarm 
out  upon  the  main  street;  flow  into  crossways;  jostle 
one  another  at  cooking-fires ;  pass  and  repass,  laden  with 
fuel,  rations,  water-vessels.  Another  day  begins. 

I  mingle  in  the  throng  that  pours  along  "Fifth  Avenue." 
I  pass  the  "bakery,"  where  an  enterprising  New  Yorker 
sells  his  ten-cent  leathery  doughnuts  and  caoutchouc 
grape-pies  for  a  dollar  in  greenbacks.  I  glance  a  moment 


DEPAETMENT  OF    THE  GULF.  381 

at  our  "jeweller's"  window — where  a  corporal  tinkers 
watches ;  elbow  through  the  crowd  surrounding  a  lieute- 
nant's turning-lathe,  which  whirls  out  chess-men  at  three 
dollars  per  set;  peer  into  a  door  where  sits  a  captain 
"editing"  our  prison-journal,  "The  Old  Flag;" — then 
reach  the  "  spring,"  dash  head  and  arms  in  water,  comb 
tangled  locks,  and  look  about  me. 

"Motley's  the  only  wear!"  says  Shakspeare,  and  in 
Camp  Ford  we  agree  with  him.  Such  costumes  never 
were  beheld  before,  outside  of  Rag  Fair  or  the  "  Beggars' 
Opera."  I  wish  our  Uncle  Abraham,  or  Sam,  could  see 
this  ''sans  culotte"  procession  marching  up  Pennsylvania 
Avenue.  Such  head-gear,  from  a  zouave  cap  to  rimless 
crowns  and  crownless  rims,  and  tattered  handkerchiefs, 
and  wisps  of  straw !  such  effigies  of  garments  !  armless 
shirts  and  legless  trowsers ;  bits  of  blankets  tied  about 
the  loins  ;  such  patches,  of  every  size  and  hue !  such 
scarecrow  figures  of  humanity !  Their  wives  and  mothers 
would  not  know  them  from  the  chiffoniers  who  rake  out 
Northern  gutters, 

But  they  are  all  United  States  soldiers  and  sailors ; 
men  who  have  met  our  foes  on  land  and  wave;  brave 
rank  and  file  of  fleets  and  armies  sacrificed  by  stupid 
commanders,  and  neglected  in  their  misery  by  the  power 
which  should  protect  them.  God  bless  them,  racrtrft'l  and 
rough  as  they  are ;  for  the  fire  of  undying  loyally  burns 
in  their  bosoms,  and  they  love  the  "Old  Flag,"  in  spite 
of  those  who  disgrace  it ! 

I  sit  down  at  my  "  shebang"  door,  to  the  morning's 
sumptuous  repast.^  I  have  corn-meal  pan-cakes,  with  a 
treacle  syrup  made  of  melted  sugar  at  eight  dollars  per 
pound  in  greenbacks.  I  have  a  slice  of  bacon,  which  cost 
two  dollars  per  pound.  I  drink  my  coffee,  made  of  burnt 


382  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

rye,  and  am  abundantly  filled.     I  watch   the  mice   run- 
ning over  my  verandah. 

We  grow  used  to  both  vermin  and  reptiles.  There 
was  a  jovial  "scare"  one  night,  around  the  wide-mouthed 
fire-place  of  our  "Big  Mess."  Stories  and  songs  were 
current,  with  occasional  jokes  about  exchange,  while  flam- 
ing logs  roared  cheerily ;  when,  suddenly,  a  monstrous 
snake-head  darted  out  upon  the  hearth,  and  presently  a 
coil  shot  up  amid  the  smoke  and  fire,  surmounted  by  the 
crested  neck  and  forky  tongue.  Our  valiant  soldiers  of 
the  Union  sprang  up  wildly,  and,  for  a  minute's  space, 
the  serpent-visiter,  a  bull  snake,  five  feet  long,  possessed 
that  battle-field.  The  bipeds  rallied,  however,  and  at- 
tacked his  reptileship  with  clubs  and  chunks  of  wood, 
deriving  him  back  within  the  fire-place,  where  he  was  soon 
despatched.  This  snake  had  chosen  a  hollow  log  for  hi- 
bernation, where  he  lay  all  torpid  till  revived  by  scorch- 
ing heat  to  crawl  out,  literally  "from  the  frying  pan  into 
the  fire." 

In  laying  the  floor  down  in  my  log  hut,  we  unearthed 
a  serpent  of  the  kind  called  ground  rattle.  It  burrows 
under  the  surface  like  a  mole.  One  morning,  I  was  awak- 
ened by  a  serpent  of  the  house  species,  which  pursued  a 
little  mouse  into  my  hammock.  I  think  the  reptile  seized 
the  tiny  fugitive  in  his  jaws ;  for  presently  both  fell  upon 
a  table  under  me,  the  mouse  escaping,  while  the  snake 
lay  stunned  an  instant,  and  was  killed  bv  one  of  our  mess. 

Of  copperheads,  rattlesnakes,  and  hooded  vipers,  I  saw 
many  in  the  swampy  neighborhoods  of  Camp  Groce,  but 
at  Ford  prison  they  seldom  showed  themselves  within  the 
stockade,  unless  brought  in  with  our  'firewood.  But  of 
venomous  pedipalpi  and  myriapoda  we  have  many  speci- 
mens. It  is  a  daily  chance  to  find  a  centipede  upon  the 
door-sill  or  the  hearth.  Some  measure  several  inches, 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  383 

bard  and  horny,  with  a  stinger  like  a  rattle  snake's  tooth. 
An  officer,  lying  in  his  bunk  of  a  morning,  felt  a  crawling, 
stinging  sensation  oa  his  breast,  approaching  one  of  his 
arm-pits,  then  descending  his  shirt  sleeve.  Lying  still 
and  almost  breathless,  he  had  the  presence  of  mind  to 
loose  his  wristband  very  quietly.  A  centipede  crawled 
down  his  arm,  out  at  his  wrist,  and  thence  upon  the 
blankets.  The  officer  sprang  out  to  the  floor,  procured 
a  stick,  and  killed  the  animal.  It  was  an  old  one,  and 
had  left  its  trail  upon  his  breast  and  arm  as  legibly  as  if 
a  line  of  dots  were  burned  in  the  skin.  The  insect's 
"hundred  feet,"  stung  as  they  moved  upon  thevcuticle,  and 
left  a  crimson  trace  of  smarting  vesicles. 

The  scorpion,  or  stinging  lizard,  as  we  called  it,  is  an- 
other of  our  insect  enemies.  Its  quick  dart  from  beneath 
a  slab  of  wood,  with  curving  tail  erect,  becomes  quite  fa- 
miliar to  us.  I  never  heard  of  serious  injury  from  the 
sting  of  one,  although  it  is  reported  to  inflict  a  fatal 
wound  in  August  or  July. 

But  from  another  member  of  the  tribe  Arachnida  we 
have  had  po»:*-ivp.  evidence  of  noxious  capabilities.  The 
horrible  spider,  the  tarantula,  is  an  especial  object  of 
hostility,  and  our  boys  torment  one,  when  'captured,  as 
sailors  would  a  shark.  They  take  good  heed,  however,  to 
impale  it  with  a  pointed  stick,  before  exciting  its  wrath ; 
for  the  insect  is  a  plucky  one,  and  can  spring  upward 
vertically,  to  attack.  It  is  a  most  repulsive  object,  with 
its  crab-like  mandibles  and  furzy  claws,  its  dorsal  hair, 
und  bloated  belly.  When  our  prisoners  first  began  to 
build  their  log  huts  at  Camp  Ford,  they  suddenly  lost  a 
comrade  by  some  strange  wound  which  he  discovered  on 
his  neck.  The  surgeon  said,  it  came  from  a  poisonous 
bite,  and  tried  to  arrest  the  virus,  but  in  vain.  The  neck 
swelled  tumorously,  and  the  poor  man  died.  A  short 


384          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

time  afterward,  in  breaking  earth  for  a  new  hut,  on  the 
ground  where  he  expired,  the  diggers  found  an  old  taran- 
tula ;  and  no  doubt  remained  that  their  unfortunate  com- 
rade had  been  bitten  by  it. 

So  much  for  our  more  malignant  insectivora.  As  for 
beetles,  bugs  and  aphides,  there  is  no  occasion  to  men- 
tion them.  Prison-vermin  are  no  respecters  of  persons 
in  rags  and  tatters  ;  and  our  corral-dwellers  boast  no  ex- 
tensive changes  in  their  sheets  or  shirts — poor  fellows ! 

While  I  am  still  eating  my  frugal  breakfast — corn 
mush,  rye  coffee,  and  a  cutting  of  bacon  fat — some  one 
scrapes  a  salutation  on  the  threshhold.  It  is  "Old  Tim," 
a  gunboat  man-o'-war's-man. 

"Will  yez  plaze  walk  out  here,  sur?"  says  Tim,  with  a 
peculiar  wink  and  head-jerk,  in  the  way  of  invitation. 

"What's  the  matter,  Tim?" 

"  0,  yez  never  nade  ax,  if  yez  just  go  wan  fut  wid  me, 
sir!  0,  begorra!  it's  the  divil's  own  matther  ye'll  clap 
eyes  on,  sur!" 

I  rise  from  my  tripod  seat,  and  follow  Tim  to  the  main 
street.  A  press  of  blue  shirts  and  blue  blouses  fills  up 
the  area  near  our  meat-block.  There  is  much  excitement 
apparent  in  the  crowd  through  which  Tim  makes  his  way, 
and  I  become  convinced  that  "  our  army  can  swear  ter- 
ribly," when  it  finds  occasion.  I  am  sure  that  I  hear  a 
variety  of  expressions,  designating  persons  and  places 
unmentionable  in  Sabbath  reading.  Presently,  gaining 
the  front  of  officers,  I  behold  the  spectacle  which  gives 
rise  to  general  curiosity. 

The  spot  where  I  stand,  with  all  the  throng,  is  half 
way  up  the  hill  side  on  which  our  corral  extends.  The 
base  of  this  declivity,  as  we  know,  is  crossed  by  our 
lower  stockade  posts,  and  on  the  other  side  of  those  posts 


DEPARTMENT  OF   THE  GULF.  385 

rises  the  eminence  whereon  head-quarters  stand.  Thus, 
while  the  rebels  can  look  down  on  us,  from  the  comman- 
der's house,  we,  on  our  part,  can  overlook  the  stockade 
and  observe  whatever  passes  outside.  And  now  an  in- 
cident is  transpiring  which  possesses  a  novel  interest  for 
Northern  men. 

Yet  it  is  only  a  "nigger"  wench,  receiving  customary 
flagellation. 

Such,  without  doubt,  would  be  the  careless  observation 
of  a  Southern  gentleman  or  a  Southern  lady,  who  might 
cast  a  casual  glance  upon  the  scene.  Custom  makes  all 
things  commonplace.  But  to  me,  I  must  confess,  and  to 
rough  Jack  Tars  and  private  soldiers  standing  round  me, 
habit  has  not  yet  familiarized  the  sight  ot  woman- whip- 
ping. Hence,  a  very  honest  vent  of  expletives,  in  plain 
vernacular,  gives  relief  to  some  among  us. 

It  is  a  rebel  soldier  who  is  doing  the  whipping  duty ; 
whether  on  a  chattel  of  his  own  or  one  belonging  to  head- 
quarters, we  know  not.  The  woman  stoops,  with  lifted 
arms,  holding  her  single  garment,  an  old  calico  gown, 
rolled  up  above  her  head,  exposing  all  her  person  from 
the  shoulders  downward,  to  the  flogging.  Quite  apart 
from  any  log  building,  on  an  open  hill-side,  this  rebel 
brute  has  dragged  his  helpless  victim  out  into  the  view 
of  Northern  men.  Compelling  a  poor  slave  to  strip  the 
clothing  from  her  limbs,  and  hold  it  up  at  arm's-length, 
while  he  whips  her,  as  no  Northern  man  would  whip  a 
dog,-.this  cowardly  fellow  seems  to  brave  the  indignation 
of  our  gallant  boys,  who  fling  out  maledictions  that,  no 
doubt,  are  audible  to  him.  We,  on  our  hill,  can  hear  * 
the  cracking  of  his  lash  as  it  descends  on  the  back,  and 
hips,  and  legs,  and  curls  around  the  body  of  this  shriek- 
ing woman !  Black  she  is,  and  a  slave  ;  but  she  is  of  the 
sex  that  claims  our  mothers.  No  wonder  that  the  blood 


386          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

boils  in  American  veins,  and  that  the  hearts  of  men  re- 
spond to  a  woman's  cries  beneath  a  Southern  sun !  I 
hear  "Old  Tim"  emit  some  words  that  are  neither  pater 
nor  ave\  and  presently  he  touches  my  arm. 

"Sur,"  says  Tim,  "do  yez  know  what  I  thought  uv  the 
nagurs  whin  I  kim  to  Dixie  Land?" 

"What  was  it,  Tim?" 

"Throth  an'  I  thought  an'  I  said,  God  forgive  me,  that 
slavery  was  made  for  the  nagur ;  an'  a  very  good  thing  it 
was,  in  its  place,  more  be  token!',' 

"You  thought  that,  Tim?" 

"Faix,  I  did,  sur!  An'  do  yez  know  what  I  think 
now,  sur?" 

"What  is  it,  Tim?" 

"  I'm  bowld  to  say,  sur — as  I  said  before — that  slavery 
is  a  good  thing  in  its  place,  sur;  but  its  place  is  down 
there,  sur! — down  there,  wid  the  Southern  Confederacy, 
an*  Jeff  Davis  on  top  uv  it,  sur !" 

Tim  stamps  with  his  foot  on  the  ground,  and  points  his 
dexter  digits  downward,  with  a  significance  unmistakable. 
And  a  murmur  and  swell  of  hard  words  all  around  us,  in 
response  to  Old  Tim,  consigns  the  Southern  Republic,  if 
words  could  ever  consign  it,  to  the  influence  of  a  climate 
much  hotter  than  the  equator. 

Meanwhile,  the  lash  rises  and  falls  with  renewed  strokes ; 
the  black  back,  loins,  and  legs  of  the  slave-woman  become 
striped  with  gules;  her  piercing  cries  ascend  to  the  heav- 
ens, mingled  with  curses  and  threats  from  her  rebel 
scourger. 

I  walk  back  to  my  cabin,  marvelling  whether  such 
things  have  been  daily  witnessed  on  a  thousand  hill-sides 
during  seventy  years  of  our  mission  as  a  people. 


DEPARTMENT   OP  THE  GULF.  387 

The  rebel-drum  is  beating  roll-call.  I  hurry  to  the 
officers'  line,  which  rests  its  right  upon  the  western  gate 
and  stretches  its  long  ranks  within  the  stockade.  Pre- 
sently, the  rebel  adjutant  rides  in  on  horseback,  followed 
by  a  score  of  guards  with  muskets,  and  their  officers  with 
lists  of  prisoners.  The  official  greybacks  then  divide, 
each  to  a  separate  detachment  of  the  Yankees.  Then  our 
names  are  read  or  spelled  out  by  an  intelligent  "  Southern 
gentleman,"  who  is  given  to  stammering,  and  makes  hard 
work  of  the  patronymics.  Meanwhile,  we  are  standing 
under  a  broiling  sun,  which  tries  the  flesh  of  fat  men  and 
the  temper  of  the  leanest  of  us.  But,  at  length,  a  welcome 
drum-roll  gives  dismissal,  and  the  dress-parade  is  over. 
We  are  our  own  masters  for  the  day,  within  the  stockade 
lines. 

The  sun  mounts  higher.  Everybody  seeks  a  shelter. 
Our  rations  must  be  drawn,  for  beef  comes  in  daily ;  but 
the  messmate  who  is  "cook''  attends  to  this.  Time  must 
be  killed  till  dinner  hour,  and  so  we  look  about  for 
weapons  to  way-lay  him  with. 

The  noon  heats  come,  but  tempered  by  a  pleasant  nor- 
thern breeze.  Our  green  verandahs  cast  inviting  shade. 
We  gather  at  our  doors,  with  books  often  read  but  still 
pored  over.  I  loiter  upon  Shakspeare ;  dog-ear  a  fine- 
print  Plutarch,  lent  to  me  by  "a  good  Union  man  outside.'* 
Colonel  Burrell  comes  up  and  chats  ;  Major  Anthony  sits 
down  to  chess  with  me.  I  write  awhile ;  then  study  tac- 
tics ;  then  beget  me  to  my  hammock,  swinging  just  outside 
of  the  log-house,  under  trellised  pine-boughs. 

A  rebel  orderly  comes  in  with  letters  for  a  few  of  us. 
The  disappointed  listen,  wondering  why  their  letters 
never  come.  I  get  a  Houston  paper,  and  a  crowd  sur- 
rounds my  doorway,  waiting  for  the  news.  "Another 
victory  for  the  South!"  "Ten  thousand  prisoners  cap- 


388          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

tured  by  General  Lee!"  "Grant  totally  defeated!" 
"Washington  to  be  attacked  immediately!" 

Cool  comfort  this  in  midsummer.  It  refreshes  us.  But 
nothing  yet  about  "exchange."  "O,  bother  on  the  lying 
secesh  paper !"  "  Nothing  about  exchange !"  "  Bosh !" 

We  eat  our  dinner.  Beef  like  shoe-leather.  A  "  duff" 
or  corn  pudding,  with  molasses,  at  the  moderate  price  of 
"thirty  dollars  in  Confederate,"  per  gallon.  Rye  coffee, 
and  an  after-dinner  smoke,  in  wooden  pipes,  with  Texan 
"tabac,"  at  the  rate  of  fifteen  dollars  per  pound,  in  green- 
backs. 

Meantime,  near  my  cabin,  industry  thrives.  Next  door, 
chairs  are  built  on  Teutonic  pattern,  by  a  German  officer. 
Here,  also,  genial  Captain  Talley,  whilom  of  the  City 
Belle,  with  Captain  Watts,  whom  he  calls  "Uncle  John," 
is  joining  stools  and  scooping  mighty  wash-bowls  out  of 
pine  slabs,  and  manufacturing  a  chess  table,  whereat  I  sit, 
in  roomy-bottomed  arm-chair,  not  long  afterwards.  In 
rear  of  this  atelier  sundry  Western  captains  play  four- 
handed  chess  upon  a  double  board  of  their  own  making. 

Through  our  cabin  window,  latticed  with  a  Venetian 
blind — my  own  sole  patent — I  can  spy  that  gallant  Buck- 
eye, Major  Berring,  with  his  mess  ;  busily  engaged  in 
straw-plaiting  for  summer  hats;  while  Captain  Sowery 
times  his  fingers  with  a  song,  and  Captain  Cochrane  trolls 
a  rousing  negro  chorus.  I  bespeak  a  wide-brimmed  cJia- 
peau,  to  wear  with  my  new  suit  of  clothes,  which  our 
French  tailor  is  about  to  fashion  from  a  regulation  blanket 
of  good  butternut  woollen. 

Major  Berring  and  two  brave  captains  challenge  to 
four-handed  chess.  We  borrow  the  mammoth  board,  for 
this  absorbing  game,  and  presently  fall-to.  So  fly  the 
hours. 

The  sun  declines,  and  locomotion  recommences.     We 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULF.  389 

visit  and  make  calls.  Our  youngsters  practice  at  gym- 
nastics in  the  central  square,  where  turning  poles  and 
parallel  bars  have  been  erected.  Wrestling  trials  are 
improvised  among  the  men.  A  game  of  quoits  goes  on. 
The  Kansas  boys  are  playing  at  ball.  More  venerable 
prisoners  sit  and  gossip  in  their  arm-chairs* 

We  hear  the  thrum  of  stringed  instruments.  Our 
"fiddler,"  Captain  May,  is  "entertaining  ladies."  Mo- 
therly Mrs.  ALLEN  is  visiting  our  corral,  with  divers 
rebel  dames  and  demoiselles  in  her  train.  They  sit  in 
wide  arm-chairs  of  Yankee  manufacture,  chat  with  Yankee 
officers,  and  hear  their  Yankee  songs,  accompanied  by 
Yankee  fingers  upon  banjoes  made  by  Yankee  hands. 
Meantime  our  Yankee  fiddler  tunes  his  catgut,  and  anon 
he  gives  us  "Sounds  from  Home" — which  draw  the  tears 
from  eyes  of  rebel  ladies.  So  the  twilight  finds  us. 

Now  the  moon  rises,  silver-orbed,  in  an  unclouded  field 
of  blue.  Our  "  secesh"  visitors  have  gone,  and  Yankee 
instruments  are  struck  to  gayer  measures.  I  hear  Cy- 
clopean Johnson,  the  engineer,  out-calling  for  a  dance. 
"  Gentlemen,  choose  your  partners !  Forward  two '  La- 
dies change !  All  balancez !  Promenade  all !" 

Dance  on,  poor  prisoners !  Cheat  your  hearts  out  of 
loneliness ! 


390  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

OPERATIONS  IN  ARKANSAS. 

How  different  might  have  been  the  fate  of  our  Red 
River  campaign,  had  the  veteran  Steel,  or  Blunt,  or 
Canby,  been  in  chief  command,  instead  of  such  tried 
generals  being  subordinated  to  the  whims  and  passions  of 
arrogant  staff-officers,  those  "  powers  behind  the  throne" 
who  really  governed  military  matters  in  our  fine  <(  Depart- 
ment of  the  Gulf."  Steel  was  a  thunderbolt  on  rebel  war- 
paths, when  he  led  out  his  frontier-men  in  earnest.  Look 
at  his  resistless  advance  from  Helena  to  Little  Rock,  in 
autumn  of  1863 ;  when  with  Gen.  Rice  and  Col.  McLean, 
leading  their  gallant  Western  infantry,  in  two  divisions, 
seven  thousand  strong,  and  with  Gen  Davidson,  marshal- 
ling his  four  thousand  bold  dragoons — the  whole  force 
skillfully  strengthened  by  forty  pieces  of  artillery — he 
drove  the  rebel  masses  before  him,  day  after  day,  in  one 
continuous  striding  toward  victory.  First  Brownsville 
fell,  under  a  dash  of  his  cavalry ;  then  the  breast-works 
at  Bayou  Meteor  were  carried  by  assault ;  then,  pushing 
the  foe  still  harder,  he  crossed  the  Arkansas  river,  on  a 
pontoon  bridge ;  moved  up  its  northern  bank  to  attack  the 
heavy  line  of  fortifications  held  by  rebels;  dispatched 
his  cavalry  against  that  of  Marmaduke,  who  kept  the^ 
suburbs  of  Little  Rock  ;  and,  finally,  rushing  forward  im- 
petuously, with  all  his  forces,  flanked  Confederate  General 
Price  completely,  and  sent  him  flying  across  the  country. 
Little  Rock  became  ours,  with  a  loss  in  the  campaign,  of 


DEPARTMENT  OP   THE  GULF.  391 

\ 

scarcely  a  dozen  killed  or  a  hundred  hurt,  while  at  least 
three  thousand  of  the  enemy  were  killed,  wounded,  and 
made  prisoners.  Nor  did  the  doughty  Steel  stop  here. 
His  cavalry  hung  on  Price's  rear,  harrassing  his  retreat 
and  chasing  him  twenty-five  miles  to  Benton,  where  our 
bold  Missourian  dragoons  captured  his  rearmost  wagons, 
destroying  the  supplies  they  carried.  On  followed  Steel, 
with  infantry  and  field-pieces — driving  the  rebel  army 
into  Arkadelphia,  and  swelling  its  list  of  "  hors  du  com- 
bat" up  to  five  thousand.  Then  Pine  Bluff  fell  before 
our  cavalry  advance,  and  it  was  subsequently  held  by 
six  hundred  Kansas  boys,  against  three  thousand  rebel 
cavalry,  artillery,  and  infantry,  in  a  bitter  fight  of  half  a 
day,  which  ended  in  another  rout  of  Marmaduke,  But 
Steel  was  active  elsewhere  all  the  while  ;  his  cavalry, 
under  Clayton,  surprising  Gen.  Dobbin,  at  Julip,  and 
taking  his  camp-equipage,  and  routing  Gen.  Green's  forces 
at  Branchville,  with  terrible  loss  to  the  rebels.  This  is 
the  style  in  which  Steel  conducted  that  Arkansas  cam- 
paigning ;  meantime,  re-organizing  and  disciplining  his 
troops,  till  they  moved  and  fought  like  veterans.  Six 
months  of  such  service  cleared  Central  Arkansas  of  the 
guerillas  who  had  made  the  capital  their  head- quarters  ; 
and,  when  the  spring  opened,  our  Federal  commander 
pounced  upon  Arkadelphia,  and  thence  marched  for  Cam- 
den,  to  co-operate,  thereafter,  with  the  strength  of  the 
Gulf,  which,  under  Banks,  was  threatening  Texas.  Shelby, 
the  rebel  general,  made  a  dash  upon  our  army's  trains, 
at  Spoonville,  on  the  road  to  Washington;  but  he  was 
beaten  off  with  loss.  Again,  at  Okalona,  he  attacked  the 
77th  Ohio  regiment,  but  was  obliged  to  sound  a  brisk  re- 
treat. Then  Marmaduke  swooped  down,  with  reinforce- 
ments of  his  cavalry,  but  was  met  by  a  brigade  of  Gen. 
Salomon's  division,  and  a  single  squadron  of  horse,  at 


392         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

Elkin's  Ford,  up  on  the  Little  Missouri.  Here  brave  Mc- 
Lean, with  his  infantry,  and  the  Iowa  heroes,  in  their 
saddles,  met  the  brunt  of  battle,  and  kept  the  Confed- 
erate army  at  bay,  till  Rice  came  up,  with  his  brigade,  and 
drove  off  Marmaduke  again.  The  rebels  rallied  behind 
breast-works,  but  were  speedily  flanked  by  our  advanc- 
ing regiments,  when  they  retreated  to  the  Prairie  d'Ann, 
where  other  strong  defences  sheltered  them.  Steel  now 
led  on,  in  person,  re-inforced  by  Thayer's  five  thousand 
from  Fort  Smith,  which  had  lately  made  a  junction  with 
his  little  army.  Then  followed  the  fight  of  Prairie  d'Ann, 
and  a  rebel  retreat,  across  the  prairie,  pursued  by  our 
victorious  boys  till  far  into  the  night.  Two  days  elapsed, 
and  then  our  army  moved  in  line  of  battle  across  that 
wide  prairie ;  presenting  an  unbroken  front,  with  batteries 
supporting,  and  cavalry  flanking,  and  sharpshooters  ad- 
vanced to  skirmish  with  the  foe.  The  march  was  a  con- 
summate piece  of  soldiership ;  our  line  flanking,  and  ob- 
liquing on  the  angles  of  rebel  works,  until,  completely 
out-generalled,  they  were  forced  to  evacuate  once  more, 
and  fall  back,  in  hot  haste,  on  Washington.  Then,  Steel, 
without  pursuing,  wheeled  upon  the  Moscow  road,  which 
led  to  Camden,  and  thus,  abruptly,  made  the  foe  aware 
of  his  intentions  in  that  quarter.  But  their  discovery 
came  too  late.  They  were  now  in  Steel's  rear,  instead 
of  front,  and  their  only  chance  of  intercepting  the  crafty 
Federal  general  was  to  hasten  by  the  direct  highway,  to 
reach  the  neighborhood  of  Camden  first.  They  made 
some  feints  upon  our  rear,  to  cover  this  design,  but  Steel 
was  not  to  be  deluded.  He  only  pressed  on  faster,  and 
in  three  days  more  had  entered  Camden,  driving 'its 
small  garrison  from  their  guns  without  much  trouble.  In 
the  meantime,  throwing  out  a  force  of  Clayton's  cavalry, 


DEPAKTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  393 

he  cut  off  a  rebel  brigade,  and  brought  its  train,  with 
some  three  hundred  prisoners,  before  his  rear  guard. 

After  such  arduous  and  successful  campaigning,  where- 
by Arkansas  was  nearly  recovered  from  rebel  sway,  it 
seems  doubly  hard  that  gallant  Steel  should  almost  fall 
a  sacrifice  to  the  disasters  of  our  miserably-abortive  Red 
Biver  expedition,  under  Major-General  Banks.  That  our 
Arkansas  commander-in-chief  performed  his  share  of  all 
preliminary  fighting  and  defeating,  needs  no  proof  beyond 
the  record  of  his  march  from  Little  Rock  to  Camden. 
But  arrived  there,  where  was  our  "Army  of  the  Gulf?" 
The  battle  of  Mansfield  had  inaugurated  its  retreat,  and 
the  Red  River  expedition  had  degenerated  into  a  dis- 
graceful failure. 

Gen.  Steel  now  found  himself  at  Camden;  but  in  his 
front,  and  on  his  flanks,  and  gathering  at  his  rear,  were 
squadrons  of  rebels,  elated  with  recent  triumphs,  and 
arrogant  with  future  expectations.  Already  they  coveted 
the  capture  of  Banks,  and  the  annihilation  of  his  fleet 
and  army.  Already  they  looked  upon  Steel  as  an  easy 
prey;  and  nothing  less  than  the  permanent  expulsion  of 
every  Federal  from  Texas  and  Arkansas  was  accepted  as 
the  ultimatum  of  rebel  conquest.  Steel  saw  himself 
beset,  and  marked  for  destruction. 

The  first  designs  of  the  rebels  were  directed  at  our 
Federal  trains.  To  cut  off  supplies  from  Steel,  and  to 
encompass  Camden  with  their  armies,  was  thought  the 
safer  method  of  proceeding  against  one  whose  prowess 
and  infinite  resources  of  strategy  were  so  well  known  to 
his  foes.  The  disaster  at  "  Poison  Springs  "  was  a  char- 
acteristic exploit  of  Texan  warfare. 

It  was  on  the  18th  of  April.  Two  weeks  had  elapsed 
since  our  primary  Red  River  defeat.  A  forage  train  was 
out  on  the  old  military  road  between  Camden  and  Wash- 


394:  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

ington.  It  was  guarded  by  a  few  companies  of  the  18th 
Iowa  infantry,  and  the  2nd  Kansas  negro  regiment.  Within 
ten  miles  of  camp,  this  train  was  attacked  by  rebel  Gen- 
eral Maxey,  with  a  division,  rebel  General  Marmaduke, 
with  another  division,  of  cavalry,  and  rebel  General  Co- 
bell,  with  a  third  division.  Maxey's  division  was  com- 
posed of  Gano's  Texas  brigade,  Walker's  brigade  of  Choc- 
taw  Indians,  Khrumbaar's  battery.  There  were  Missouri 
regiments,  Texan  regiments,  Arkansas  regiments,  and 
aboriginal  regiments,  with  half  a  dozen  Confederate  gen- 
erals to  command  them.  All  these  were  marshalled  un- 
der Maxey,  and  marched  against  half  a  regiment  of  infan- 
try, and  a  few  black  soldiers,  guarding  our  forage  trains, 
yet  the  battle  was  contested  stoutly  by  our  devoted  boys. 
Not  till  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  its  number  were  killed 
or  wounded,  and  nearly  a  hundred  captured,  did  the  little 
band  fall  back  slowly,  and  yield  four  guns  and  about  one 
hundred  and  seventy  wagons  to  an  overwhelming  enemy. 
But  very  proud,  nevertheless,  were  those  rebels  of  their 
unusual  good  fortune  against  Steel ;  and  Maxey  made  an 
official  report  of  the  affair  which  might  have  served,  in 
details  and  bombast,  for  the  bulletin  of  a  Waterloo  battle. 
Another  exploit  against  wagoners  and  their  escorts, 
soon  followed  the  battle  of  Poison  Springs.  On  the  23d 
of  April,  an  empty  train  of  some  two  hundred  wagons, 
left  Camden  for  Pine  Bluffs,  to  get  supplies  for  our  be- 
leaguered troops.  This  train  was  placed  in  charge  of  the 
available  force  of  a  brigade  that  Col.  McLean  commanded, 
in  Salomon's  division.  There  were  comprised  in  it,  the 
48d  Indiana  volunteers,  in  charge  of  Major  Norris,  the 
36th  Iowa  regiment,  Major  Hamilton,  and  the  77th  Ohio 
infantry,  led  by  Captain  McCormick.  These  regiments 
had  been  depleted  greatly.  With  them  were  dispatched 
about  two  hundred  of  the  1st  Indiana  and  7tji  Missouri 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE   GULF.  395 

cavalry,  under  Majors  McCauley  and  Spellman ;  the  whole 
commanded  by  Lieut.-Col.  Drake,  of  the  36th  Iowa  volun- 
teers. They  encamped,  after  being  one  day  out,  on  Bayou 
Mars,  and  the  next  morning,  as  the  train  advanced,  they 
found  the  enemy  drawn  up  in  line  of  battle  on  the  road 
near  Mark's  Mills,  five  miles  on  the  Pine  Bluff  road,  and 
six  miles  from  the  Saline  River. 

Our  Indiana  boys  were  in  front,  and  speedily  became 
engaged,  assisted  by  a  small  detachment  of  the  5th  Kan- 
sas volunteers,  just  coming  up  from  Pine  Bluff.  Six 
thousand  rebels  thundered  at  our  little  vanguard,  but 
more  than  once  it  drove  the  enemy's  centre ;  and,  rein- 
forced by  the  36th  Iowa  regiment,  comprising  scarcely 
four  hundred  men,  which  soon  dashed  up,  our  brave  front 
withstood  unshrinkingly  the  heavy  fire  of  rifles  and  cannon 
concentrated  upon  it.  For  more  than  an  hour,  this  un- 
equal contest,  of  less  than  eight  hundred  against  eight 
times  their  force,  continued  undauntedly.  Again  and 
again  they  pierced  the  serried  centre  of  rebel  battle  ; 
stubbornly  did  they  dispute  every  foot  of  ground;  until, 
at  last,  after  two  pieces  of  Stenge's  2d  Missouri  artillery 
had  been  literally  overrun  and  captured,  and  retaken  by 
our  rallying  boys  several  times,  they  began  to  give  ground 
reluctantly  before  their  foes.  Not,  however,  till  every 
horse  attached  to  the  battery  was  killed,  and  the  gunners 
shot  down  at  their  pieces,  did  those  glorious  Western 
soldiers,  bleeding  and  exhausted,  give  up  their  portion 
of  the  train. 

In  the  meantime,  Captain  McCormick,  who,  with  the 
77th  Ohio  men,  was  guarding  the  rearmost  wagons,  had 
been  summoned  by  Col.  Drake,  to  hasten  forward  with 
all  speed.  The  captain  at  once  started  his  regiment  on 
"double -quick,'*  passing  impeded  trains  and  a  section  of 
artillery,  which  had  become  "mired"  in  the  boggy  Mars 


396          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

bottom.  For  five  miles,  the  Ohio  boys  advanced  at  this 
rate,  but  only  reached  the  front  in  time  to  see  their  com- 
rades captured.  The  whole  rebel  force  was  now  before 
the  rear-guard,  as  it  been  before  the  van ;  but  Captain 
McCormick,  seconded  by  Captain  Whitridge,  adjutant- 
general  of  the  brigade,  brought  his  little  force  rapidly  in 
line,  and  sought  to  save  the  wagons  that  were  yet  behind 
him.  For  another  hour,  the  enemy  was  held  in  check  at 
all  parts,  and  twice  forced  to  give  way  in  front.  But  the 
woods  were  open  all  around  the  battle-ground;  the  rebel 
sharp-shooters  could  screen  themselves,  on  either  flank; 
heavy  lines  were  massing  about  the  train ;  and,  at  length, 
to  their  dismay,  the  Ohio  soldiers  found  their  ammunition 
gone.  They  were  compelled  to  surrender;  and  thus  the 
battle  of  MARK'S  MILLS  ended,  after  a  most  obstinate 
struggle  by  our  small  force  against  terrible  odds.  We 
lost  two  hundred  and  fifty,  in  killed  and  wounded,  and 
about  one  thousand  in  prisoners,  with  two  hundred  wag- 
ons, and  a  hundred  teamsters.  The  enemy's  loss  could  not 
have  been  less  than  a  thousand  killed  and  wounded ;  as 
Our  skirmishers,  deployed  in  the  timber,  did  fearful  exe- 
cution on  rebel  masses  during  the  protracted  engagement. 
Beyond  mules,  wagons,  and  arms,  the  enemy  obtained 
nothing  but  prisoners ;  for  the  train  was  an  empty  one. 
The  needy  marauders  solaced  themselves,  however,  with 
an  indiscriminate  plundering  of  Federal  soldiers.  Money, 
watches,  and  clothing  were  "appropriated,"  with  cool 
effrontery.  Tattered  head-gear  was  replaced  by  Yankee 
hats ;  bare  feet  rejoiced  in  Uncle  Sam/s  boots ;  and  the 
"  sans  cullottes"  butternuts  became  speedily  transformed 
into  well-clad  "Johnnies,"  provided  with  canteens,  knap- 
sacks, and  comfortable  blankets.  Our  brave  Americans, 
robbed  and  maltreated,  were  then  marched  to  the  Bed 
Kriver,  and  soon  afterwards  arrived,  weary  and  worn,  at 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  397 

our  populated  prison-pen  in  Camp  Ford.  Contemplating 
this  new  accession  of  "Steel's  men,"  our  soldiers  from 
Mansfield,  Pleasant  Hill,  and  other  parts,  were  prepared 
to  appreciate  yet  more  keenly  the  military  foresight 
whereof  they  were  common  victims. 

With  Steel's  soldiers,  from  "  Mark's  Mill"  battle,  and 
other  engagements,  arrived  many  teamsters,  traders,  and 
citizens ;  among  the  latter  a  son  of  John  Ross,  the  Che- 
rokee Chief,  whose  nephew,  D.  R.  Hicks,  I  have  already 
mentioned  as  among  the  Kansas  prisoners.  Koss  and 
Hicks  were  both  intelligent  and  loyal  men,  and  had  suf- 
fered severely  in  the  cause  of  Union.  Such  martyrs  as 
these  and  their  compatriots  of  the  "Nation"  deserve  well 
of  our  Republic  in  the  future.  I  would  gladly,  if  space 
permitted,  relate  the  story  of  their  trials  and  perils.  But 
the  rehearsal  would  involve  a  national  history.  I  must 
hasten  on  with  personal  narrative. 


398          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

PRISON    ASSOCIATIONS. 

WITH  our  privations  and  hardships  there  were  mingled 
many  consolations  in  the  corral.  Friendly  converse,  mu- 
tual good  offices,  music,  sports,  and  gymnastic  exercises, 
enlivened  the  monotony  of  prison  life.  While  the  quiet 
ones  re-read  or  studied  a  few  old  books,  played  chess,  or 
talked ;  our  athletes  practised  at  "  parallel  bars "  and 
"turning  poles";  our  *c industriels"  worked  at  the  lathes 
and  carpenter's  bench ;  our  music-lovers  met  for  rehear- 
sal ;  and  our  "  dancing-men  "  waltzed  or  quadrilled.  We 
had  base-ball,  cricket,  and  quoits ;  promenades,  wood- 
chopping,  and — sink-digging,  moreover,  to  fight  against 
ennui  and  dyspepsia. 

Many  good  hearts  were  among  us ;  many  kindred  spir- 
its became  knit  together.  It  would  gratify  me  to  dwell 
upon  the  traits  of  better  natures  developed  under  the  or- 
deal of  captivity ;  but  the  compressed  limits  of  my  book 
denies  that  indulgence.  Of  a  few  I  may  only  recall  a 
pleasant  memory. 

Harry  Western,  of  the  "Undaunted  Mess,"  was  a  type 
of  the  generous  young  sailor.  I  do  not  know  who  claimed 
him  not,  some  hour  in  the  day,  for  a  friendly  helping 
hand.  Like  sea-boys,  generally,  he  was  expert  at  a  hun- 
dred little  arts  of  skill  and  industry ;  now  shaping  out  a 
fancy  cap,  now  fashioning  new  garments  out  of  rags,  now 
finishing  a  set  of  chess-men,  now  denuding  hirsute  chins 
of  bristling  superfluity,  and  now  exsecting  too-redundant 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  399 

locks  from  polls  of  fellow-prisoners.  Harry  was  a  genius, 
with  notable  contempt  for  land-lubberism,  and  with  more 
than  a  dash  of  poetry  in  his  genial  composition.  He 
would  give  us  "Tarn  O'Shanter,"  with  all  its  broad 
Scotch  humor,  and  quote  love-lines  from  Tom  Moore  with 
true  Catullic  fervor.  Many  a  '"yarn"  was  spun  when 
our  nautical  circle  gathered  about  my  hearth -fire ;  and 
Harry  could  twist  his  thread  with  the  most  intricate  ;  for 
he  had  been  a  sea-wanderer  before  his  teens,  and  had 
trodden  remotest  strands,  and  passed  through  many  a 
strange  experience,  though  scarcely  yet  the  beard  of 
manhood  fringed  his  nut-brown  cheeks.  He  had  sailed 
as  mate  of  an  ocean  clipper  ere  he  turned  his  twentieth 
year,  and  was  now,  at  twenty -two,  a  veteran  naval  officer, 
with  a  record  of  service  that  might  compare  with  many 
who  wore  more  embroidery  on  their  uniform  sleeves. 

Harry  Western,  as  before  noticed,  was  latest  in  com- 
mand before  the  surrender  of  the  gunboat  Diana,  cap- 
tured on  the  Atchafalaya  by  waylaying  rebels.  Brave 
Lieutenant  Mars,  who  kept  his  post  in  the  engine-room 
till  all  the  steam  connections  had  been  shot  away  by 
cannon-balls,  and  clouds  of  scalding  vapor  filled  the  space 
between  decks ;  gallant  infantry  Lieutenant  Bulkley,  who 
has  since  found  a  soldier's  grave  in  the  Shenandoah  Val- 
ley; these  and  many  another  choice  young  officer  were 
wont  to  gather  in  our  mess-circles,  when  Harry  "  spun 
his  yarn." 

Captain  Dillingham,  of  the  "  Morning  Light,"  ever  in 
radiant  humor,  drew,  for  our  amusement,  on  his  endless 
fund  of  anecdote  and  experience  ;  Captain  Crocker,  of  the 
"  Clifton," — dignified  and  spiritual, — shared  with  us  the 
treasures  of  his  well-cultured  mind;  while  the  blunt 
speech  and  sound  judgment  of  Captain  Johnson,  of  the 
41  Sachem,"  were  relied  upon  to  sever  any  Gordian  knot 


400         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

of  argument.  These  naval  gentlemen,  with  signal-officer 
Dane,  whose  brilliant  spirits  defied  even  fever  and  ague 
to  keep  them  under ;  and  our  leading  gymnast,  Lieut. 
Dana,  who  was  a  Gabriel  Ravel  on  the  "turning  bars," 
with  Col.  Nott,  the  philosophic  and  erudite  colonel  of  our 
"Ironsides,"  made  up  "Fifth  Avenue"  mess;  at  which 
I  took  hospitable  rations,  for  a  few  weeks,  till  I  lapsed 
into  house-ownership. 

The  42nd  Massachusetts  mess,  with  brave  Colonel 
Burrell  at  the  head,  maintained  domestic  status  in  a 
"  shebang,"  which  boasted  a  detached  cook-house.  Around 
its  bounteous  board  gathered  stout  Captain  Sherive,  who, 
with  Lieut.  Hibbard,  of  the  23d  Connecticut  regiment, 
performed  the  onerous  duties  of  volunteer  commissaries, 
to  divide  our  prison  rations ;  busy  Captain  Proctor,  ever 
on  the  alert  to  be  useful ;  polite  Captain  Savage ;  balmy 
Lieut.  Newcomb;  sweet-singing  Lieut.  White;  sober- 
minded  Lieut.  Stowell;  modest  Lieut.  Humble,  of  the 
Mass.  4th ;  high-reaching  Lieut.  Cowdin :  and  that  dash- 
ing sworder,  Captain  King,  of  N.  H.  Cavalry. 

In  my  own  cabin  I  received,  originally,  but  a  single 
mess-mate — Captain  Van  Tine;  whose  quiet  demeanor 
covered  sterling  qualities  of  taste  and  sense.  Our  family 
circle  became  afterwards  enlarged  by  the  admission  of 
Major  Anthony's  mess,  which  gave  up  its  quarters  to 
some  of  the  poor  fellows  from  Shreveport,  who  had  a 
"builders'  lien"  upon  them.  Thereafter,  having  removed 
my  house — by  tearing  down  and  rebuilding — in  one  day; 
so  that  I  dined  under  its  roof  some  forty  rods  from  the 
site  on  which  I  had  breakfasted  within  its  walls;  we 
settled  down  to  a  mess  of  six  that  continued  till  our 
final  exodus.  Major  Anthony  became  general  caterer — 
and  a  provident  one ;  while  Lieuts.  Morse  and  Sampson, 
and  Dr.  Brennan,  shared  in  our  simple  menage. 


DEPARTMENT  OF    THE   GULP.  401 

The  "Ironsides"  officers  were  dispersed  among  various 
messes.  Captain  Coe,  always  cheerful  and  attractive, 
with  Lieut.  Stevenson,  were  mates  of  Lt.-Col.  Leake  and 
his  officers ;  our  studious  Lieut.  Wellington,  and  chess- 
conquering  Lieut.  Lyons,  combined  with  another  circle ; 
while  solid  Lieut.  Babcock  migrated  to  rural  districts, 
near  the  gate ;  bright-eyed  Lieut.  Petrie  carried  his  good 
heart  elsewhere;  and  that  indefatigable  "book-collector," 
Lieut.  Robens,  built  his  plank  domicile  nearly  opposite 
my  own  verandah.  But,  I  am  warned  to  abbreviate  des- 
cription. 

So,  therefore,  with  brief  notice  of  what  I  would  wil- 
lingly dilate  upon,  I  must  pass  to  the  closing  chapters  of 
our  prison  experience.  I  must  advert  merely,  "en pas- 
sant" as  the  French  say — to  kind-hearted  Capt.  Wash- 
burne;  quaint  engineer  Fox,  of  bird-fancying  habits; 
jovial  Major  Gray ;  and  thrifty  Captain  Hammond ;  to  the 
ingenious  Chambers,  whose  model  of  the  "Morning  Light" 
was  a  trophy  of  Yankee  naval  architecture ;  to  kindly  and 
active  Bridges,  who,  with  Lieut.  Delemater,  devoted  his 
labors  to  our  sick  in  hospital ;  and  McLaughlin,  whose  sto- 
ries of  Shreveport  prisons  might  furnish  matter  for  a 
romance.  Nor  can  I  give  more  than  allusion  to  many 
incidents  and  episodes  involved  in  attempts  to  escape  by 
our  comrades ;  to  the  punishment  of  Capt.  Reed,  who,  on 
recapture,  was  forced  to  stand,  for  eight  hours,  upon  a 
barrel,  at  our  north-gate — with  naked  feet  and  head  ex- 
posed under  the  blazing  summer-day  sun;  till  his  brain 
became  fevered  nearly  to  delirium;  or  to  the  brutal  treat- 
ment of  prisoners  who  sank  under  sabre-strokes,  or  were 
dragged  by  lariats  fastened  to  their  necks,  behind  mounted 
rebels ;  nor  to  the  stories  that  intersperse  my  notes,  re- 
hearsing the  trials  and  sufferings  of  loyal  Texans — the 
panics,  persecutions,  and  massacres  that  marked  the  first 


402          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

years  of  Rebellion  in  Texas.  Among  the  last-mentioned 
local  events,  however,  was  the  "  Match  Plot,"  which  de- 
serves a  paragraph. 

The  breaking  out  of  fires  in  several  stores,  at  Tyler  and 
other  places,  awakened  a  suspicion  that  two  merchants 
from  the  Northern  States,  (who  had  purchased  patent 
matches,  which  ignited  almost  spontaneously,)  were  in- 
cendiaries. The  usual  senseless  hue  and  cry  followed ; 
the  traders  were  thrown  into  prison;  and  hundreds  of 
hapless  blacks  were  arrested  and  tortured — in  order  to 
get  evidence  of  the  "  Yankee  Conspiracy."  Free  negroes 
and  poor  white  settlers  from  the  North  fell  under  the  ban 
at  once.  Scores  of  the  latter  were  hanged  by  the  mob. 
More  than  a  hundred  negroes,  free  and  bond,  were  execu- 
ted, as  I  have  been  informed,  on  suspicion  alone.  Several 
were  burned  at  t^e  stake.  Thirty  white  men  were  lynch- 
ed, in  and  about  Tyler  and  Palestine;  one  of  the  unfortu- 
nate merchants  who  had  introduced  the  matches  under- 
going this  fate — the  other  escaping  by  timely  flight. 
Blood  flowed  in  all  quarters,  till  the  enlightened  "  Regu- 
lators," finding  no  more  poor  whites  to  kill  or  banish, 
decided  that  "order  reigned"  again. 

Burning  men  and  women  at  the  stake  is  a  popular 
Southern  amusement.  A  negro  was  thus  executed  at 
Tyler,  while  our  prisoners  tarried  at  Camp  Ford.  The 
occasion  furnished  a  gala-day  for  all  the  good  people  of 
Smith  County,  our  guards  included. 

I  heard  one  day  a  story  of  lynch-law  executed  in  our 
camp  neighborhood ;  my  informant  being  a  friendly  guard 
•who,  like  many  others,  was  Union  at  heart,  although  con- 
forming outwardly  to  rebel  service,  as  a  volunteer. 

During  the  winter,  an  old  lady,  living  in  Van  Zandt 
County,  was  plundered  by  a  gang  of  soldiers  in  Confede- 
rate grey,  who  beat  her  shamefully,  and  (as  she  told  the 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  403 

story,)  tied  her  up  by  her  thumbs  till  she  disclosed  the 
place  where  was  concealed  her  specie  (some  three  hun- 
dred dollars)  and  about  two  thousand  dollars  in  Confede- 
rate currency.  It  was  asserted  that  Jayhawkers  had 
done  this  deed,  though  sober  people  shook  their  heads ; 
well  knowing  that  squads  of  Sibley's  men,  with  some  of 
Richardson's  guerillas,  and  the  scattered  miscreants  of 
Quantrell's  gang,  were  ranging  through  these  upper  coun- 
ties. But  "black  flag"  rebels  charged  the  crime,  as  they 
would  any  crime,  on  Union  men — of  whom  hundreds,  for- 
mer citizens,  were  fugitives  in  swamps  and  timber,  hiding 
from  conscript  hunters.  It  was  easy  to  accuse  such  out- 
lawed wanderers;  so  the  chase  became  set  after  "Union 
men,"  Four  individuals  were  speedily  rundown:  one 
Reed,  a  former  sheriff  of  Collin  County ;  an  aged  citizen, 
McReynolds,  or  McRunnells,  who  had  been  chief-justice 
of  that  district;  and  two  young  men,  Holcombe  and  Davis. 
They  were  arrested  at  their  homes  and  dragged  to  Tyler. 

This  was  in  May,  when  our  prison-numbers,  at  Camp 
Ford,  had  been  increased  some  thousands,  after  the  battle 
of  Mansfield.  The  rebels  were  exultant  everywhere,  but 
with  characteristic  cowardice  the  people  of  these  counties 
feared  an  outbreak  from  so  large  a  body  of  incarcerated 
Yankees,  and  affected  to  discover  insurrectionary  plots 
continually.  Three  noble-hearted  Texans,  who  refused 
to  bow  the  knee  to  Davis,  were  imprisoned  in  our  guard- 
house at  Camp  Ford — two  brothers,  Whitmore,  one  of 
whom  had  been  a  prominent  member  of  the  Legislature, 
and  Rosenbaum,  a  former  attorney-general  of  the  state. 
It  was  the  policy  of  rank  Secessionists  to  fix  as  many 
new  crimes  on  the  Union  men  as  could  be  believed,  in 
order  that  some  pretext  might  be  found  for  general  mas- 
sacre or  the  enacting  of  terror  laws. 

Hence,    when   Sheriff  Reed  and  Judge  McReynolds 


404          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

were  thrown  into  prison  at  Tyler,  it  was  decided  that  they 
should  never  go  at  large  again.  So,  one  May  morning, 
fifty  mounted  "  Regulators"  clattered  into  Tyler,  halted 
at  the  tavern  door,  and  "liquored  round;"  held  confab 
with  the  provost-marshal,  galloped  up  and  down  the 
town  awhile,  and  finally  drew  rein  before  the  prison,  with 
a  yell : 

"Bring  out  them  Jayhawkers!" 

The  doors  were  opened,  and  the  men  delivered  up.  A 
rope  being  slung  about  them,  they  were  dragged  behind 
the  Lynchers  to  a  piece  of  timber,  scarce  half  a  mile  out 
of  Tyler.  "There,  almost  within  gun-shot  of  camps,  where 
fifteen  hundred  cavalry  and  infantry  were  guarding  Fede- 
ral prisoners,  these  Lynchers  began  their  mockery  of  a 
trial  The  first  victim  pleaded  "not  guilty." 

"You  lie,  Jim  Reed  !  You're  a  heap  wuss  Jayhawker 
than  Gineral  Banks!" 

"  Silence  in  the  coort !"  cries  Justice  Lynch,  a  bull- 
headed  whiskey-still  proprietor.  "  Keep  still,  you  all, 
while  I  fix  his  flint.  Prisoner,  Jim  Reed,  what  have  you 
got  to  say  why  you  oughtn't  to  be  black-jacked  ?" 

REED. — I  am  not  guilty.  I've  been  hunted  and  perse- 
cuted for  my  sentiments  ever  since  the  State  seceded.  I 
never  fought  against  the  State.  My  house  was  burned 
over  the  heads  of  my  family  in  the  town  where  I  lived, 
an  honest  man,  and  served  the  country.  I  had  to  fly,  by 
night,  with  my  wife  and  seven  children,  to  Van  Zandt, 
and  they  hounded  me  out  of  that.  I  declare  before 
Heaven  that — 

LYNCH,  C.  J. — Shet  up!  You  know/yer  an  old  scoun- 
drel, and  yer  was  three  ye'rs  in  Missouri  Penitentiary — 

REED — I  never  was  in  the  State  of  Missouri. 

LYNCH,  C.  J. — Blast  yer,  then,  yer  an  old  deserter 


DEPARTMENT  OP   THE  GULP.  405 

from  General  McCulloch's  army.  The  papers  was  found 
on  ye,  and  yer  can't  swar  'em  down. 

REED. — I  deny  it.  I  was  regularly  commissioned  by 
General  McCulloch,  as  an  officer.  He  gave  me  a  position 
because  I  preferred  to  go  back  to  the  army  rather  than 
be  hunted  down.  I  was  preparing  to  join  my  command 
when  arrested. 

LYNCH,  C.  J. — Yer  a  skulkin*  liar  and  a  thief,  Jim 
Reed,  and  we've  jest  had  palaver  enough  out  o'  yer.  I 
pronounce  judgment  of  the  coort.  Yer  to  be  hanged  at 
once,  till  yer  dead,  dead,  dead !  and  Lord  have  marcy  on 
yer  soul ! 

Five  minutes  after,  Sheriff  Reed  was  dangling  from  an 
oak-limb  above  his  murderers. 

Judge  McReynolds  was  then,  dragged  forward  and  re- 
viled by  the  "coort"  in  like  manner.  The  old  man's  son, 
who  was  one  of  the  rebel  soldiers  guarding  us  at  Camp 
Ford,  heard  about  the  Lynchers  visiting  Tyler  jail,  and, 
mounting  a  horse,  galloped  from  his  quarters  to  the  town. 
He  there  learned  that  the  ruffians  had  taken  their  pris- 
oners to  the  woods.  He  followed  their  trail  with  all  the 
speed  he  could  command,  but  arrived  in  time  only  to  find 
his  father  swinging  on  the  tree,  from  which  Reed's  dead 
body  had  been  just  cut  down.  This  wretched  son  was 
forced  to  beg  the  remains  of  his  parent  from  the  assas- 
sins ;  and  so  great  was  the  terror  inspired  by  the  boldness 
and  cruelty  of  these  "Regulators,"  that  young  McRey- 
nolds was  unable  to  hire  a  wagon  to  convey  the  corpse  to 
Kaufman  county,  where  his  family  lived. 

Young  Holcornbe — like  each  of  the  others — stoutly 
maintained  his  innocence,  and  was  hanged  with  the  same 
noose  that  had  strangled  his  predecessors ;  for  the  ruffians 
had  provided  only  rope  enough  to  hang  a  single  man,  and 


406         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

were  obliged  to  wait  until  one  was  dead  before  proceeding 
to  execute  another. 

This  lack  of  mechanical  means  to  murder  was  a  for- 
tunate circumstance  for  one  of  the  accused,  young  Davis. 
His  fellow-prisoners  had  been  hanged  before  his  face, 
their  bodies  laid  out,  stark  and  still,  before  him,  and  the 
rope  was  drawn  about  his  own  devoted  neck,  when  some 
one  rode  up — a  passing  traveller  on  horseback,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  an  officer  in  the  rebel  service.  He  spoke  a 
word  or  two  with  the  "coort,"  and  the  "coort"  ordered 
stay  of  proceedings. 

"  Thar's  been  a  mistake,  I  reckon !"  quoth  Judge  Lynch. 
"  That  yer  young  chap  is  a  good  soldier,  and  belongs  to 
this  yer  officer's  rigiment — so  the  coort  clar's  him." 

The  rope  was  taken  from  the  neck  of  Davis,  and  he 
was  allowed  to  depart  with  his  officer  for  Camp  Ford; 
while  the  three  other  victims  were  left  under  the  shadow 
of  those  "blackjacks."  The  Lynchers  rode  away,  about 
sunset,  over  the  hill-sides  of  Smith  County,  with  no  com- 
punctions for  their  crime,  no  fear  of  punishment  or  pursuit. 

"How  long,  how  long,  0  Lord!"  whispered  a  Union 
Texan  in  my  ear,  when  we  listened  to  a  recital  of  this 
story,  the  day  following.  "  When  shall  WE  have  our  turn  ?" 
He  compressed  his  lips,  and  a  dark  look  came  over  his 
face.  "  There  will  be  a  terrible  reaction — a  bloody  re- 
tribution— in  this  State  of  Texas  some  day  I  WE  bide  our 
lime!" 

But  I  am  drawing  to  the  close  of  my  Camp  Ford  life. 
I  must  soon  part  from  comrades  in  captivity ;  and  I  am 
rejoiced  that  with  none  shall  I  part  in  unkindness.  The 
little  differences  inseparable  from  gregarious  habitation 
are  things  of  a  moment,  of  trifling  importance.  The  ar- 
rows of  humorous  satire,  or  the  darts  of  friendly  badinage, 


DEPABTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  407 

will  never  rankle  in  good  hearts  or  clear  minds.  We,  who 
have  been  thrown  together  by  common  mischances — who 
have  endured  common  trials — will  remember  one  another, 
in  the  future,  with  more  fraternal  emotions  than  can  be 
awakened  by  a  retrospect  of  mere  neighborly  relations. 
The  bond  of  mutual  loyalty — the  golden  link  of  patriot- 
ism— will  be  brightened  when  we  shall  look  back  upon 
Camp  Ford,  by  beams  of  Friendship,  Love,  Truth — and 
that  "greatest  of  all"  which  is  CHARITY. 

Yet,  though  my  hopes  and  heart  turn  northward,  I 
leave  regretfully  so  many  friends  behind.  I  feel  warm- 
hand-clasps,  I  hear  fervent  good  wishes,  from  men  who 
a  few  months  ago  were  strangers.  I  return  the  strong 
grasp  of  stout  Western  veterans  ;  of  men  from  the  loyal 
South:  of  gallant  comrades  out  of  every  Union  State,  from 
Maine  to  Louisiana.  Soldiers  and  sailors !  God  bless  you 
all !  We  may  never  meet  again  in  this  world,  face  to  face ; 
but  we  are  all  marching  to  that  yet  more  glorious  Union, 
in  a  better  world,  where  the  Stars  never  fade,  and  where 
there  is  neither  strife  nor  captivity ! 

So,  good  bye,  "  Undaunteds  !"  Farewell,  "  Fifth  Ave- 
nue !"  Adieu,  "  Big  Mess!"  and  all  kindred  of  good-fel- 
lowships! Good  bye,  honest  genial  and  manly  Major 
Mann,  of  Kentucky.  Good  bye,  citizens  Haley  and  Clark 
— Don  Quixote  and  Sancho!  Farewell,  all!  May  you 
speedily  leave  Camp  Ford  as  desolate  as  you  found  it, 
and  may  you  follow  our  foot-prints  to  the  homes  where 
your  loved  ones  await  you.  God  bless  you  all! 


408         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

; 

CHAPTER    XLIII. 

CLOSING   DAYS. 

WITH  the  flush  tide  of  prisoners,  from  Red  River  and 
Arkansas,  came  back  that  wandering  tribe  of  Federal  sol 
diers,  under  Lt.-Col.  Leake,  to  whom  we  had  bidden  "  God 
speed,"  on  their  paroled  march,  about  the  first  of  April. 
They  had  been  halted-  near  Marshal,  scarcely  half-way 
between  Camp  Ford  and  Shreveport,  and  had  remained 
there  till  subsequent  Red  River  misunderstandings  broke 
off  arrangements  for  exchange.  Meantime,  a  few  newly- 
arrived  prisoners,  taken  at  the  battle  of  Saline  River,  in 
Arkansas,  brought  us  the  welcome  intelligence  that  Steel 
had  succeeded  in  baffling  the  rebels,  and  withdrawing, 
without  loss,  from  Camden. 

As  the  month  of  April  drew  to  a  close,  we  counted 
more  than  three  thousand  captured  men  within  the  corral ; 
and  the  necessary  crowding  and  exposure,  as  well  as  per- 
sonal neglect  among  some  squads,  threatened  a  heavy 
sick-list  for  the  summer.  About  this  time,  a  change  of 
rebel  commandants  took  place ;  Col.  Allen  being  super- 
seded by  Col.  Anderson,  at  Tyler,  and  the  charge  of  pris- 
oners devolving  thereafter  on  a  Lieutenant-Colonel,  named 
Borders. 

Another  regime  speedily  began  t6  make  itself  felt. 
Our  new  rebel  ruler  was  a  bitter  secessionist,  of  the  de- 
monstrative sort;  and  he  speedily  contrived  to  become 
obnoxious  to  many  Federal  officers  and  men.  Col.  Allen 
and  his  lady,  with  their  son,  the  lieutenant,  bade  us  fare- 


DEPARTMENT  OP  THE  GULP.  409 

well,  and  we  were  left  to  the  "tender  mercies"  of  un- 
sympathizing  strangers;  a  fact  which  several  soon  had 
reason  to  regret.  For,  whatsoever  fault  might  have  been 
found  with  Col.  Allen,  during  his  administration,  he  was 
always  regarded  to  be  conscientious,  and  was,  moreover, 
an  educated  gentleman.  Good  Mrs.  Allen,  his  wife,  was 
an  especial  favorite,  and  with  sufficient  cause ;  for  her 
acts  of  kindness  to  Federal  prisoners  were  neither  "  few 
nor  far  between." 

All  are  not  foes,  even  in  a  land  of  foes ;  and  we  had  ac- 
knowledged this  truth  in  witnessing  the  kindly  ministra- 
tions of  good  and  motherly  Mrs.  Alien*  Few  forgot  that 
Col.  Allen  was  a  West  Point  graduate,  and  so,  undoubt- 
edly, many  were  disposed  to  judge  him  harshly  on  the 
score  of  his  ingratitude.  But,  though  his  treason  to  the 
government  which  fostered  him  had  been  a  hundred-fold, 
there  was  charity  enough  in  kindly  Mrs.  Allen  to  have 
covered  it  with  a  mantle  of  forgetfulness.  We  all  respect- 
ed her;  a  plain,  good  matron — really  "a  mother  in  Is- 
rael" to  the  sick  or  sorrowful  prisoner,  whoever  he  might 
be.  At  morning,  after  roll-call,  we  were  sure  to  spy  a 
little  handmaid  of  this  Lady  Bountiful  slipping  into  our 
corral,  with  sundry  niceties,  wrapped  in  napkins,  for  some 
invalid;  a  couple  of  eggs,  a  little  plat  of  butter,  a  few 
wheaten  slices,  or  a  bit  of  tempting  cake.  If  one  of  our 
sick  craved  for  tea,  or  "Lincoln  coffee,"  or  a  cup  of 
honey,  our  good  "mother/'  as  she  liked  to  have  us  call 
her,  never  rested  till  she  could  procure  the  treat.  I 
doubt  not  this  benevolent  woman  was  an  angel  at  her 
husband's  side,  entreating  favors  for  the  "Yankee  priso- 
ners." Certainly  we  traced  many  a  needed  privilege  or 
long-petitioned-for  amelioration  to  the  influence  of  Mrs. 
Allen.  Who  so  pleased  as  she,  to  hurry  over  with  some 
scrap  of  news,  which  might  impart  the  hope  of  "  an  ex- 


410          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

change  ?"  Who  strove  to  cheer  the  more  despondent — 
jested  with  the  merrier  ones,  and  talked  on  solemn  sub- 
jects with  the  serious  ?  When  we  gathered  near  the 
"  quartermaster's  grave,"  on  Sabbath  days,  to  hear  our 
chaplain  preach  and  pray,  the  wife  of  Col.  Allen  always 
came  and  sat  among  the  prisoners,  listening  to  the  Word 
with  them,  and  singing  to  Our  Father,  who  has  drawn  no 
line  between  his  love  for  North  and  South.  When  all 
of  us  lie  down  in  our  last  camping-ground,  and  when, 
awakened  by  a  celestial  reveille,  we  pass  in  grand  review 
of  souls  before  our  Infinite  Commander,  there  will  be  no 
roll-call  of  birth-places.  I  trust,  in  that  dread  hour,  the 
prayers  which  this  good  "mother"  offered  for  the  soldiers 
of  both  North  and  South,  will  have  been  answered  by  the 
God  to  whom  she  prayed;  and  that  the  comrades  of  our 
prison-yards  will  meet  dear  Mrs.  Allen  in  a  clime  where 
peace  shall  be  proclaimed  to  all  of  us  forever. 

It  was  though  kind  Mrs.  Allen  that  many  pleasant 
Texan  ladies  came  to  visit  the  corral  and  chat  with  our 
imprisoned  officers ;  loyal  Union  dames  and  maidens 
among  them,  too ;  as  we  discovered,  from  time  to  time. 
And  once  we  were  descended  upon  by  the  Texan  Muse, 
in  the  person  of  sweet,  but  rebellious,  Miss  Mollie  Moore, 

There  are  "burning  Sapphos"  in  the  South,  to  be 
counted  by  scores;  feminine  Tyrtgei,  whose  harps  are 
constantly  jingled  with  swords  and  daggers.  It  is  these 
whose  martial  dithyrambics  sound  like  drum-beats  and 
bugle-calls  on  the  tympani  of  young  Dixie.  It  is  these 
who,  like  mad  Cassandras,  dance  ever  in  front  of  rebel 
ranks,  chanting  their  fierce  denunciations  against  northern 
foes.  Had  they  the  power,  I  verily  believe  they  would 
add  to  their  virgin  faces  and  bosoms  the  talons  of  harpies, 
merely  for  the  satisfaction  of  having  a  chance  at  the  eyes 


DEPARTMENT  OF    THE    GULP.  411 

•of  "hated  Yankees."  Not  a  houri  of  them  but  would 
promise  immortal  bliss  in  her  arms  hereafter  to  any  rag- 
ged Johnny  who  dies  sweetly  and  decorously  for  Dixie f 
Not  a  lovely  Gorgoness  of  all  but  would  venture  "one 
eye,"  at  least,  on  an  opportunity  to  petrify  some  "polluted 
invader"  with  a  Medusan  grimace. 

To  our  prison-corral,  under  convoy  of  Mrs.  Allen,  came 
the  young  poetic  lioness,  though  she  did  not  present  her- 
self with  many  characteristics  of  a  lioness.  She  did  not 
roar  nor  enter  rampant.  Her  mane  was  not  blood-red 
nor  fire-red,  but  I  must  aver  that  it  had  a  soupyon  of — 
in  fact,  that  it  was  of  the  peculiar  tint  which  possessors 
thereof  claim  to  be  golden,  but  which  a  censorious  world 
will  swear  to  be  of  a  croceous  hue.  The  poetic  nose  was 
retrousse,  rather — that  must  be  confessed — and  the  white 
brow  and  cheeks  had  been  gilded  in  numerous  small  spots 
by  the  too  fierce  kisses  of  Apollo,  in  spite  of  all  sun- 
shades. But  our  Texan  Sappho  was  neither  masculine, 
leonine,  rhinocerine,  nor  elephantine.  She  was  simply  a 
young,  sharp,  self-possessed,  pale-faced,  Jane  Eyre  sort 
of  a  little  body,  who  might  be  taken  for  a  genteel  gover- 
ness or  a  Yankee  "  school-ma'am,"  according  to  meridian ; 
whose  thin  lips  could  curl  with  bitterness,  and  whose 
pale-blue  eyes  might  kindle  to  white  heat  under  strong 
provocation ;  whose  temper  would  be  saint-like  with  a 
lover  and  Hecatic  with  an  enemy. 

She  sat,  with  her  rebel  friends,  before  my  cabin  door, 
while  our  gallant  officers  sang  songs  and  played  on  violin 
and  banjo.  She  kept  time,  with  dancing  toe,  while  Capt. 
May  good-naturedly  treated  her  to  "Dixie,"  but  grew 
fiery  and  curled  her  lip  when  the  artful  fellow  abruptly 
turned  his  bowing  into  "Yankee  Doodle."  She  ex- 
changed badinage  with  the  wits  of  our  prison-circle,  giv- 
ing and  taking  some  pretty  sharp  shafts  with  unruffled 


412          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

composure.  And  though  she  was  loud  in  her  expression 
of  rebel  enthusiasm,  and  regretted  when  our  musicians 
had  not  the  notes  to  accompany  her,  that  she  might  sing 
us  the  "  Black  Flag  Song,"  I  think,  on  the  whole,  that 
Miss  Mollie  made  a  favorable  impression,  though  she 
broke  no  Yankee  hearts.  To  be  sure,  our  minstrels  were 
so  retaliatory  as  to  strike  up  the  "  Star-Spangled  Banner" 
when  she  turned  to  leave  us,  and  it  is  a  historical  fact 
that  at  least  fifty  stentorian  voices  roared  out  the  national 
anthem  as  a  parting  salute  to  the  lady.  But  we  separated, 
nevertheless,  the  most  friendly  of  enemies,  and  Miss 
Mollie  Moore  intimated  that  she  might  some  time  publish 
her  "  impressions"  of  us.  Whether  she  has  done  so  yet 
I  cannot  say  ;  but  I  live  in  hopes  of  turning  over,  at  some 
future  day,  the  leaves  of  a  handsomely-printed  volume  of 
this  Texan  girl's  "  poems,"  in  the  blue  and  gold  of  an 
appreciative  Yankee  publisher.  May  we  all  live  to  laugh 
over  the  little  rebel's  "  Black  Flag  !" 

I  had  the  distinction  of  provoking  another  young  poetess 
to  the  publication  of  a  brace  of  lyrics  in  reply  to  some 
verses  which  were  contributed  to  Mr.  Cushing's  journal  at 
Houston.  I  regret  that  lack  of  space  prevents  the  inser- 
tion of  these  breathings  of  the  I'exan  muse  ;  but  must  be 
content  with  a  couple  of  rather  conflicting  stanzas,  both  * 
addressed,  though  on  different  occasions,  to  my  incarce- 
rated Yankee  self.  The  first  extract  is  as  follows  : 

"  As  a  prisoner  you  came:  as  a  freeman  remain ! 
"  Desertion  from  tyrants  can  ne'er  be  a  stain; 
"Beneath  our  bright  banner  we'll  proudly  enroll 
"The  Northern  by  birth  but  the  Squthern  in  soul !" 

This,  to  be  sure,  was  a  tempting  invitation;  but,  as  I 
Could  not  own  the  "  soft  impeachment"  of  being  "  Southern 
in  soul"  the  next  poetic  salutation  that  I  received  was  not 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  413 

quite  so  complimentary.     "Let  him  alone  !"  said  the  in- 
dignant syren : 

"  The  tyrant  in  his  pride,  and  in  his  creed  the  puritan, 
"  Who  prays  for  peace,  and  lifts  the  sword  to  slay  his  fellow-man; 
"  With  "  South  or  Hell"  upon  his  brow  combined, 
"  Behold  that  Ephraim's  to  his  idols  joined  I" 
"  Let  him  alone  I" 

But  the  departure  of  our  friendly  Aliens  left  the  camp 
without  visitors.  And  indeed  the  influx  of  prisoners  had 
deprived  our  "  Old  Borough*'  of  the  country -village  char- 
acteristics which  formerly  distinguished  it.  We  were 
now  a  community  of  comparative  strangers  to  one  another. 
A  thousand  Federals — the  late  captures  at  Marks'  Mills — 
arrived  during  May,  and,  with  accessions  also  from  Hous- 
ton and  other  points,  the  population  soon  swelled  to  moro 
than  forty-three  hundred  men.  The  check-rein  of  rehel 
authority  began  to  gall  us.  Col.  Borders  issued  arbitrary 
orders.  One  morning  we  discovered  posted  on  the  mar- 
ket-place an  order,  purporting  to  be  from  the  Confederate 
general  at  Shreveport,  which  ran  as  follows. 

"Hereafter,  any  Federal  prisoner,  being  detected  in  trying  to 
make  his  escape  from  the  prison — either  in  the  act,  or  after  he  has 
made  his  escape— will  be  shot  by  the  one  capturing  him. 
By  order  of 

LT.  COL.  J.  P.  BORDERS, 

B.  W.  McEACHAN,  Com'd'g  Camp  Ford  Prison. 

Lt.  &  Acting  Adjutant. 

This  unwarrantable  threat  created  no  little  excitement. 
Other  events  transpired  to  make  us  feverish.  A  man 
was  shot  dead  by  a  guard  upon  the  Sabbath.  The  poor 
fellow  was  walking  near  the  gate,  but  gave  no  provocation 
and  received  no  warning.  The  brutal  rebel  shot  him  with 
a  pistol.  An  effort  was  made  to  attribute  this  assassination 
to  personal  revenge.  The  murderer  was  said  to  have  re- 


414          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

cognized  the  Federal  soldier  as  one  who  had  formerly 
guarded  a  Federal  prison  and  treated  him  (the  rebel) 
with  severity.  Few  credited  this  story,  however,  and 
the  bloody  deed  was  probably  a  wanton  act  of  cowardly 
hatred.  Several  sudden  deaths,  from  exposure  and  latent 
physical  cause,  occurred  about  this  time;  and  a  num- 
ber of  guards  were  killed  or  wounded  by  accidental 
shooting.  A  poor  soldier  of  the  Maine  volunteers  fell 
dead  before  the  door  of  my  "  shebang."  Our  sick  were 
now  numerous,  and  it  became  absolutely  necessary  to  pro- 
vide hospital  accommodations  for  their  treatment.  An 
order  from  head-quarters,  therefore,  permitted  parties  of 
the  prisoners  to  volunteer  in  finishing  a  building  outside 
of  our  corral,  for  the  reception  of  sick  and  convalescent 
Federals.  This  structure  was  one  story  high,  48  feet  long, 
and  18  feet  wide.  Squads  of  our  19th  Kentucky  boys 
began  the  erection  of  an  additional  ward,  36  by  8  feet, 
and  one  story  in  height.  The  task  of  completing  these 
hospital  quarters  was  entered  upon  as  a  "  labor  of  love"  by 
Capt.  Wilcox,  of  the  3d  Missouri  Cavalry,  who  assumed 
charge  of  the  Medical  Department,  assisted  by  Maj.  Mor- 
ris, who  had  been  likewise  surgically  educated.  With 
Capt.  Wilcox  was  associated  Capt.  Johnson,  of  the  Sachem 
gunboat,  Capt.  Talley,  Capt.  Rider,  Lieut.  Steinhover  of 
the '60th  Indiana  volunteers,  and  Lieut.  James  Delemater, 
of  the  91st  New  York  volunteers;  the  latter  acting  as  a 
hospital  steward.  These  officers,  assisted  by  squads  from 
the  5th,  6th,  and  14th  Kansas,  and  9th  Wisconsin  regi- 
ments, the  19th  Kentucky  infantry,  and  others  from  vari- 
ous commands,  were  indefatigable  in  their  exertions  to 
fit  up  the  hospital  for  their  suffering  fellow-prisoners. 
Their  generous  spirit  was  stimulated  by  the  wants  of  our 
sick,  who  daily  increased  in  numbers,  and  whose  condi- 
tion, at  this  period,  is  described  in  a  letter,  written  by 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  415 

the  Confederate  post-surgeon,  a  copy  of  which  I  obtained 
through  one  of  the  assistants.     It  is  as  follows : — 

TYLEB,  TBXAS,  June  14th,  1864. 
Surgeon  J.  M.  HATDEIT, 

Chf.  Med.  Bureau,  T.  M.  D. 

SIR  : — In  obedience  to  orders,  I  repor.ted  to  the  officer  in  command  of  the 
camp  of  Federal  prisoners  at  this  place  (Col.  Anderson),  who  immediately 
placed  me  on  duty,  as  surgeon  in  charge.  I  at  once  set  about  examining  the 
sanitary  condition  of  the  stockade,  and,  although,  my  mind  was  prepared  by 
representations  to  meet  with  abundant  materials  for  disease,  it  fell  far  short  of 
the  reality.  The  enclosed  ground  is  entirely  too  small  for  the  number  of  men, 
(over  4500),  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  make  them  healthy  in  such  a  crowded 
condition.  The  filth  and  offal  have  been  deposited  in  the  streets  and  between 
the  quarters  from  which  arises  horrible  stench.  A  great  number  of  the  enlisted 
men  have  no  quarter  nor  shelter,  and  have  to  sleep  out  on  the  ground,  with 
not  even  a  blanket  to  cover  them.  Some  of  the  sick  are  thus  situated,  and  I 
am  making  preparations  to  provide  for  their  wants  and  to  make  them  comfor- 
table. We  have  a  hospital  in  course  of  erection,  and  will  need  bedding  very 
much.  The  popular  prejudice  here  is  so  strong  against  them  that  I  can  get  no 
facilities  from  the  people.  I  have  sent  to  you  for  approval  the  requisition 
which  I  would  have  sent  directly  to  the  Medical  Purveyor,  but  I  thought  your 
signature  would  be  necessary.  I  am  ready  to  receive  into  hospital  a  few,  if  we 
had  the  articles,  and  they  are  not  to  be  had  here.  No  regular  register  of  cases 
or  deaths  has  been  kept,  up  to  a  recent  period,  but  I  visited  the  grave-yard  and 
counted  25  graves,  a  much  smaller  number  than  I  was  led  to  believe. 

The  names  of  those  surgeons  on  duty  here  who  have  not  passed  the  board,  I 
will  send  you  in  a  few  days.  I  have  not  seen  them  all,  but  have  carried  out 
your  directions  with  regard  to  their  early  appearance,  as  far  as  I  have  been 
able.  Very  respectfully, 

your  obt.  serv't, 

F.  W.  MKAGHIB. 

The  hospital,  up  to  the  date  of  the  above  letter,  had 
received  between  thirty-five  and  forty  patients,  seven  of 
whom  died,  and  two  returned  to  the  stockade.  The  sup- 
ply of  utensils  and  medicines  was  very  meagre,  of  course, 
but  the  rooms  were  airy  and  the  beds  kept  clean.  The 
hospital  rations  issued  were  sugar,  bacon  or  beef,  flour, 
meal,  salt,  and  candles. 


4:16  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 


CHAPTER  XLIV, 


AT  length  the  hopes  so  long  cherished,  so  often  damp- 
ened, drew  near  realization.  Early  in  May,  a  Confede- 
rate officer  arrived  at  Camp  Ford,  with  orders  to  enroll 
the  names  of  prisoners  preparatory  to  an  immediate  ex- 
change. Enrolled  we  duly  were;  but  "immediate  ex- 
change" receded  into  uncertainty.  Still,  our  confidence 
increased  when,  in  June,  the  chaplains  taken  at  Mans- 
field, together  with  several  citizens,  were  allowed  to  set 
out,  with  their  paroles,  on  a  march  without  escort  to  our 
lines.  Genial  "Father  Robb,"  of  the  48th  Ohio,  a  Bap- 
tist preacher,  who  had  been  my  guest  during  his  captivity, 
and  who  had  labored  zealously  in  his  vocation,  was  one  of 
the  chosen.  With  Kev,  Mr.  McCulloch,  a  Presbyterian, 
brother  of  a  gallant  captain  of  that  name,  who  was  like- 
wise a  prisoner,  "Father  Kobb"  had  awakened  much 
interest  in  religion  among  the  soldiers;  so  that  prayer- 
meetings  were  held  nightly  and  several  conversions  took 
place  under  their  ministrations. ,  These  gentlemen  left  us 
about  the  first  of  July,  and  shortly  after  we  welcomed  the 
return  of  our  mustering  officer  with  instructions  to  parole 
the  "oldest  prisoners." 

It  was  a  season  of  mingled  rejoicing  and  disappoint- 
ment; of  joy  to  us  who  numbered  ourselves  among  the 
"earliest  settlers,"  and  of  "hope  deferred"  to  more  than 
three  thousand  still  left  in  prison.  But,  the  brave  fellows 
whom  we  were  to  leave  shared  not  a  little,  after  all,  in 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  417 

the  satisfaction ;  since  our  "exchange"  would  be  a  guaranty 
for  them  that  the  waters  of  relief  were  moving  and  would, 
in  due  season,  reach  their  own  feet. 

It  was  immediately  after  our  "  celebration"  of  "  Inde- 
pendence Day"  that  we  "old  prisoners"  received  the 
"glad  tidings"  of  coming  liberation.  That  "Fourth  of 
July"  will  long  be  remembered.  Hogarth  ought  to  have 
been  superincumbent  over  the  corral,  to  take  a  sketch  on 
thumb-nail,  of  our  motley  multitude.  Description  would 
beggar  itself  in  an  effort  to  compute  our  rags  and  tatters 
fluttering  on  Texan  breezes  !  Fancy  might  limp  in  fol- 
lowing the  bizarrerie  of  looks,  motions,  and  habiliments 
which,  swaying  in  a  dense  crowd,  made  up  the  "great 
unwashed"  outline  of  our  "fierce  democracie"  on  this 
immortal  day  of  Independence.  But  God  bless  the  gal- 
lant hearts!  They  were  all  loyal  American  soldiers, 
though  the  tongues  of  many  nationalities  betrayed  their 
diverse  origin;  though  the  "rich  Irish,  brogue"  and 
"sweet  German  accent"  mingled  with  New  England's 
nasal  idioms  and  the  broad  vernacular  of  Western  Prairie 
Land.  God  bless  them  all!  They  love  the  "Old  Flag," 
with  their  honest  souls,  and  their  blood  has  been  shed  to 
defend  it. 

Under  the  green  canopy  of  our  verandahs,  united  one 
with  another  by  interlacing  foliage,  so  that  the  street  be- 
fore my  cabin  was  completely  screened  from  the  sun,  we 
raised  our  platform,  and  wound  about  the  neighboring 
posts  some  blankets  of  red,  white,  and  blue.  Grouped 
about  the  rostrum  were  representative  officers  from  a 
hundred  regiments,  embracing  colonels,  majors,  captains, 
and  lieutenants,  hailing  from  every  loyal  state  and  from 
some  rebellious  ones ;  bearing  the  martial  monograms  of 
regiments  from  Maine  to  Louisiana;  wearing  on  their 
frontlets  the  bugles  of  infantry,  the  crossed  sabres  of  ca- 


418          TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

valry,  the  trumpets  of  sharp-shooters,  the  turrets  and 
shields  of  engineers,  the  crossed  cannon  of  artillerymen, 
and  the  flaming  shells  of  our  ordnance  corps.  Intersper- 
sed with  these  were  gallant  sons  of  Neptune,  with  gay 
gold  bands  on  caps  and  coat-sleeves.  But,  to  tell  the 
truth,  ponderous  majorities  of  this  loyal  audience  were 
not  extremely  particular  regarding  costume,  as  evinced 
by  the  advent  of  our  orator  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and  our 
poet  in  a  butternut  coat  which  bore  strong  resemblance 
to  a  gipsey's  blanket.  Squatted  on  Texan  soil,  grouped 
by  log-house  corners,  and  perched  upon  tripods,  they 
stretched  to  left  and  right,  a  goodly  block  of  sui  generis 
American  timber.  And  their  "hurrahs"  were  as  lusty, 
their  "Star  Spangled  Banner"  as  sonorous,  and  their 
"  God  Save  America"  as  impressive — albeit  the  vocal 
thunder  set  their  rags  all  fluttering — as  if  they  had  stood, 
in  pipe-clayed  lines,  with  glittering  muskets  at  an  order, 
and  the  Flag  of  Stars  displaying  its  brilliant  folds  above 
them. 

Once,  twice,  does  rebel  jealousy  threaten  to  mar  our 
"celebration."  Hardly  have  the  " Declaration's"  noble 
truths  been  flung  upon  Southern  air — scarcely  has  our 
ora'tor  commenced  his  exordium — when  a  tramp  is  heard 
approaching,  and  the  voice  of  a  Confederate  captain  roars 
out: 

"  Disperse,  Yankees!  Get  into  your  quarters!  Be  off! 
Quick!  Every  man  of  you!" 

A  file  of  rebel  guards  backs  the  speaker's  authority. 
We  recognize  the  officer  of  the  day,  and  some  one  attempts 
an  explanation. 

"We  had  permission  from  Col.  Borders  to  have  this 
meeting,"  says  our  chairman,  Col.  Burrell,  brave  defender 
of  Galveston  wharf,  who  sits  on  the  platform  in  bran  new 


DEPAETMENT  OF  THE  GULF.  419 

glory  of  blue  coat  and  shoulder-straps,  which  have  hardly 
been  aired  by  previous  wearing. 

"  I'll  see  about  that,"  muttered  the  rebel,  turning  away 
toward  the  guard-house. 

Our  boys  began  to  steal  back  again,  and  our  orator 
lifted  his  voice  for  another  effort.  But  before  he  could 
launch  the  American  eagle  on  her  wonted  flight  into  the 
milky  way  of  eloquence,  a  rebel  sergeant  was  in  the  midst 
of  us. 

"Into  your  holes  with  you!"  he  yelled,  with  an  oath. 
"Don't  let  me  order  you  again!" 

Thus  adjured,  our  mass  meeting  began  to  disintegrate 
slowly;  the  boys  dispersing  toward  their  cabins,  with 
lowering  looks  and  wrathful  objurgations.  They  knew 
their  own  impotence,  and  that  to  resist  the  insulting 
authority  of  their  jailers  could  result  in  no  good,  and 
might  afford  pretext  for  a  general  massacre.  Never- 
theless, free  blood  asserted  itself  in  the  reluctant  step, 
and  the  "curses  not  loud  but  deep,"  which  accompanied 
the  forced  degradation  of  our  retreat. 

At  this  juncture,  however,  the  officer  of  the  day  re- 
turned. He  had  communicated  with  Col.  Borders  and  as- 
certained that  our  "Yankee  celebration"  was  "legal," 
and  conducted  under  high  sufferance.  So  our  harmless 
crowds  were  graciously  permitted  to  congregate  under 
the  verandahs  once  more,  our  orator  again  ascended  his 
rostrum,  and  the  rebel  guards  fell  back  to  the  rear.  Op- 
position only  gave  spice  to  our  enjoyment,  and  we  cheered 
our  orators,  pledged  our  "regular  toasts,"  (with  nothing 
to  drink,)  and  sang  our  national  songs  with  renewed  ardor. 

Short  leave-takings;  full  hearts;  hurried  hand-shak- 
ings; and  the  "old  prisoners"  are  outside  the  corral,  so 
long  their  city  of  bondage.  I  mount  my  horse — a  Texan 


420         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

pony,  hired  for  the  hundred-mile  journey  to  Shreveport, 
in  consideration  of  some  two  hundred  dollars  of  Confede- 
rate currency.  Then,  waving  our  hands,  in  parting  adieus 
to  comrades  left  behind,  we  take  up  our  line  of  march. 
A  dozen  others  besides  myself  have  bargained  for  horse- 
flesh, and  bestride  their  various  nags.  The  rest  move  on 
in  slow  procession.  So,  the  first  day,  we  count  twenty 
miles  of  traveling,  and  a  like  number  the  day  following. 
On  the  third  evening  we  reach  Marshal,  where  we  bivouac 
near  a  railroad  track,  and  have  Yankee  music  and  singing 
at  the  camp-fire  of  rebel  Major  Smith,  who  commands  our 
escort.  Next  morning,  resigning  my  saddle  to  a  foot- 
sore Kentucky  officer,  I  avail  myself,  with  several  com- 
rades, of  permission  to  make  the  day's  journey  on  a 
twenty-mile  section  of  railroad.  Thereafter,  with  faces 
and  hearts  toward  Shreveport  and  "  exchange,"  we  march 
cheerfully  on  our  last  twenty -mile  stretch  to  the  Ked 
River. 

We  halt  upon  our  toilsome  march — a  line  of  foot-sore 
prisoners.  We  have  been  upon  the  road  since  daybreak, 
and  it  is  now  past  noon.  But  here  are  clumps  of  forest, 
and  tracks  of  beaten  mud  conducting  to  a  spring.  The 
highway  forks  before  us,  from  this  piece  of  timber,  skirt- 
ing it,  and  we  see  two  roads,  one  trending  to  a  hollow  at 
our  right,  the  other  branching  up  a  hill  in  front.  A  mule- 
team  and  a  laden  wagon,  on  which  sits  an  ancient  negro, 
with  a  poll  as  white  as  cotton-wool,  appear  descending  to 
us.  "Watermelons!"  shout  our  "  boys;*'  and,  quite  for- 
getful of  lame  joints,  they  spring  up  from  the  shady  road- 
side, and  run  forward  to  the  sun-parched  highway. 

"How  much,  uncle  ?"  "What  d'ye  ax  a-piece,  uncle  ?" 
"Give  us  a  couple,  Sambo!" 

"Fifteen  dollar  fur  dis  yer,  an*  ten  dollar  fur  dat  dar, 


DEPAETMENT  OF   THE  GULP.  421 

croons  the  ancient  darkey,  who  has  been  sent,  probably, 
by  his  master,  from  a  neighboring  farm,  to  make  a  profit- 
able market  out  of  passing  Yankee  prisoners.  He  points, 
to  large  and  small  specimens  of  the  emerald  fruit,  heaped 
up  in  rich  profusion,  but  is  answered  by  indignant  groans. 

"Dry  up,  old  cotton-head!"  "Fifteen  grannies!" 
"What's  Confed.  money  worth?"  "Git  off  that  box,  old 
man!"  Then  there  is  a  movement  forward,  and  by  the 
flanks,  and  a  reconnoissance  in  force  at  the  wagon-tail. 

"Let*  dat  alone  dar! — I  sees  ye!"  The  old  negro 
plunges  off  his  box  upon  the  melon-pile.  A  yell  rises 
from  besieging  Yankees,  as  a  nimble  drummer-boy  grips 
one  of  the  tempting  spheroids,  ducks  suddenly  under  the 
wagon,  and  presently  emerges  from  the  press,  followed 
by  half  a  dozen  comrades  eager  to  cut  into  the  prize. 

"  Gorramity !  dar's  anudder  gwine  !"  screams  Uncle 
Ned,  as  a  burly  fellow,  ragged  and  barefoot,  seizes  one  of 
the  largest  specimens  within  his  reach,  and  swings  away 
with  it  as  leisurely  as  if  it  had  been  bought  and  paid  for. 
At  this  juncture,  a  third  melon  is  suddenly  whirled  up 
from  the  heap  and  finds  its  way  beyond  the  ring,  scram- 
bled after  by  a  dozen  scamps  with  watering  mouths. 

"Pass  round  the  'greenbacks,'  boys!"  yells  a  sans  cu- 
lottes, whose  tatters  hang  about  him  in  a  fringe,  like 
Adam's  fig-leaves. 

"0!  de  lor-a-massy!  'top  darf  'top  t'ief!  Free  water- 
melon done  gone,  an'  nary  dollar  fur  massa!  G'lang,  ole 
mules!  Git  out  dis  yer  place!"  And,  casting  himself 
over  the  melon-pile,  with  his  long  gorilla  arms  sprawling 
out  to  cover  it,  the  superannuated  darkey  flings  his  heels 
across  the  box,  and  kicks  his  mules  to  start  them;  but  in 
vain!  Twenty  hands  have  laid  hold  upon  the  wagon- 
wheels  and  pull  them  back,  while  shouts  and  laughter 
drown  the  hapless  peddler's  lamentations. 


422  TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

"Free  watermelon  done  gone,  an'  nary  one  dollar  fur 
massa!  "  G-'lang,  ole  mules!  Fo'  watermelon  done  gone, 
an'  nary  dollar  fur  massa !  G'lang,  ye  ole  fools  !  Seben 
watermelon  done  gone,  an'  nary  dollar  fur  massa !" 

"I  say,  Uncle  Ned!  what'll  ye  take  for  the  balance?" 
"Drive  on,  cotton-head:  you're  lighter  than  you  was!" 
"  Tell  your  massa  to  charge  'em  to  Gineral  Banks." 

"  Free  mo'  watermelon  done  gone,  an'  nary  dollar !  Fo' 
mo*  watermelon  done  gone,  and  nary  dollar  fur  massa!" 
The  ancient  darkey  bows  his  white  wool  in  despair, 
sprawls  over  the  diminished  fruit-heap,  belabors  his 
wretched  mules  with  both  heels,  like  a  drummer  with 
drumsticks  beating  the  roll-call.  All  the  while  he  glares, 
rheumy-eyed,  upon  laughing  tormentors,  who  snatch  me- 
lon after  melon  from  under  his  hands,  while  their  com- 
rades hold  back  the  wagon-wheels,  stopping  all  mule-power. 

At  length,  however,  a  violent  effort  of  the  animals, 
goaded  by  drubbing  heels,  succeeds  in  starting  off  the 
wain,  and,  with  a  sudden  turn,  the  half-unloaded  vehicle 
is  whirled  from  out  the  crowd  of  Yankees,  and  goes  spin- 
ning toward  the  hollow  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  prisoners 
toss  a  portion  of  their  plunder  to  the  rebel  guards,  and 
vent  a  loud  hurrah,  which  adds  new  speed  to  the  affrigh- 
ted mules  as  they  plunge  down  the  hill.  But  backward 
come  the  cracked  bewailings  of  poor  Uncle  Ned: 

"  Free  watermelon  done  gone !  'leben  watermelon  gone ! 
seben  watermelon!  cl'argone!  done  gone!  Nary  dollar 
fur  massa!  Done  gone  !  cl'argone — nary " 

Dust,  clamor,  lamentations !  I  laugh  as  I  recall  that 
scene.  How  ludicrously  it  reminds  one  of  the  rebel 
government  and  its  predicament.  This  crazy  wagon-load 
of  watermelons  is  no  bad  symbol  of  Confederate  common- 
wealths— their  mule-power  progress  stopped  by  Yankee 
strength,  while,  one  by  one,  the  watermelon  States  are 


DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  GULP.  423 

lugged  off  bodily  by  force  of  Yankee  arms,  and  cotton- 
headed  Davis  is  sprawling  vainly  over  all  with  impotent 
bemoaning — 

"Free  mo'  watermelon  done  gone!  Fo'  mo'  water- 
melon done  gone! — cl'ar  gone — an'  nary  dollar  fur  massa ! 
Done  gone — cl'ar  gone  1 

But  eager  longing  for  liberty  and  "home"  outstrips 
the  incidents  of  travel.  Fain  would  I  linger,  with  pleas- 
ant roadside  halts  at  farm-houses ;  fain  recal  my  gossip 
with  whites  and  blacks;  and  my  confidential  chats  with 
loyal  Texan  guards — eliciting  life-histories  during  short 
rides  in  advance  of  leg-weary  pedestrians.  But  I  must 
hasten  over  our  three-days  sojourn  at  Shreveport;  catered 
for  by  honest  conscript,  "Uncle  Jack,"  trusty  purveyor 
for  hungry  Yankees;  with  whom  I  left  my  last  Texan 
relic  in  the  shape  of  goat-skin  breeches ; — I  must  pass  by 
head-quarters  of  Kirby  Smith,  where  hang  our  "Iron- 
sides" banners,  as  trophies  on  rebel  walls :  I  must  leap 
from  the  levee,  and  leave  behind  my  long-kept  dress-coat, 
stolen  now  from  rifled  knapsack !  But  what  matters  the 
loss  of  a  uniform !  What  boots  it,  though  I  emerge  from 
rebel  toils  with  but  aboriginal  costume !  Here  flows  the 
Red  River !  At  its  mouth  the  Mississippi  rolls :  beyond 
is — Liberty ! 

All  of  our  nine  hundred  will  not  see  the  Promised  Land 
of  their  loyal  love — their  heart-weary  yearnings.  This 
old  soldier  from  Maine — whom  we  were  wont  to  make 
merry  with,  as  a  half-crazed  seer  of  spirits — this  poor  dy- 
ing MOORE  I  he  has  made  his  last  march !  his  comrades 
bear  his  body  past  my  bivouac,  as  we  halt  on  the  shores 
of  Red  River.  And  this  pale-faced,  patient  Lieut.  Hugg ; 
who  has  borne  suffering  so  long  and  bravely ;  he  will 
never  behold  the  sun-rise  again  over  pine-woods  of  his  na- 


424         TWENTY  MONTHS  IN  THE 

live  New  Jersey.  He  will  pass  away,  with  gallant  Captain 
Adams,  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes;  but  the  Crescent 
City  moon  will  look  down  upon  their  coffins. 

But  the  STARS  AND  STRIPES!  the  "Father  of  Waters!" 
the  blue  Atlantic !  the  glorious,  undivided,  indivisible 
UNION!  with  all  treasures  of  home ;  all  wealth  of  respon- 
sive hearts !  are  not  these  still  for  us  ?  We  have  descend- 
ed, at  last,  the  maurky  tide  of  ochreous  waters.  Far  behind 
us  are  the  ruined  mansions  and  devastated  gardens  of 
Alexandria.  Yonder  lie  Federal  gun-boats,  watchful  at 
Bed  River  gates,  like  grim  mastiffs.  Below  them,  with 
her  prow  turned  hitherward,  moves  a  Mississippi  steam- 
er. Her  colors — streaming  aloft — flash  in  meridian  sun- 
light. "  Our  Flag  is  still  there !" 

Presently,  we  see  the  small  "messenger-boat"  passing 
and  repassing.  Our  Federal  Commissioner  of  Exchange, 
Col.  DWIGHT,  has  arrived  in  the  river-steamer,  bringing 
Confederate  prisoners  to  exchange  for  us.  Col.  Skuy- 
manski,  rebel  "  Commissioner  of  Exchange,"  confers  with 

him and  the  assurance  comes,  at  last,  that  we  are — 

FREE! 

It  is  thirteen  months  since  I  unbuckled  my  sword; 
eleven  months  since  I  heard  from  home  and  the  beloved 
who  waits  for  my  coming.  But  now  I  stand  under  the 
"  Old  Flag"  again!  I  clasp  the  hilt  of  a  Federal  sabre! 
and,  thank  heaven!  here — at  the  mouth  of  Red  River — I 
lift  to  my  lips  a  well-remembered  seal,  and  trace,  with 
misty  eyes,  upon  a  letter-sheet,  the  dear  word — WIFE! 

So,  with  grateful  heart — looking  forward  to  our  future — 
I  praise  the  gracious  Providence  which  holds  in  keep  both 
nations  and  individuals ;  and  which  is  mighty  forever  to 
save  and  succor;  whether  its  mercy  be  invoked  from 
CABINETS  and  CONGRESSES,  or  from  CAMPS  and  PRISONS* 


THE  TENANT  HOUSE; 

OR, 

EMBERS  FROM  POVERTY'S  HEARTHSTONE. 

BY  A.  J.  H.  DUGANNE. 
Beautifully  Illustrated  with  Original  Designs. 

B.  M.  DEWITT,  PUBLISHER,  13  FRANKFORT  STREET. 


Great  truths  in  all  ages  have  been  most  powerfully  presented  to  popular  appre- 
hension in  the  form  of  allegory,  or  illustrated  fiction.  That  our  readers  may  see 
the  very  high  estimation  in  which  the  book  is  held  by  distinguished  divines,  we 
•ubjoin  a  few  of  their  encomiums,  out  of  more  than  a  hundred  letters  received : 

OPINIONS  OP  THE  WORK. 

I  am  thankful  for  a  voice  so  touching  and  earnest.— Rev.  A.  S.  Stone,  D.  D. 

It  interested  me,  it  drew  me  on,  till  I  have  read  it  through.— flew.  Orville 

Dewey,  D.  D. The  book  commands  my  respect  and  my  tribute  of  thanks  to 

the  author.— flew.  W.  S.  Alger,  D.  D. It  is  gold  that  has  passed  through  the 

refiner's  fire.—  Rev.  A.  A.  Miner. 1  should  feel  no  hesitation  in  commending 

the  book.— flew.  Baron  Stow,  D.  D. It  fastens  the  attention  from  beginning  to 

end.— Rev.  Rollin  H.  Neal,  D.  J). This  book  is  pure  as  the  poems  of  Cowper. 

—Rev.  Joel  Parker ;  D.  D. The  author  has  achieved  the  noble  task  of  giving 

force  and  impressiveness  to  facts.— Rev.  Edward  Lathrop,  D.D. 1  cannot  doubt 

that  it  wi1!  prove  an  attractive  book,  and  have  a  wide  circulation. — Rev. Asa 

Smith,  V.        He  who  begins  the  reading  of  this  book  will  find  it  difficult  to 

lay  it  down  till  he  reaches  the  close. — Rev.  John  Dowling,  D.  D. 1  gratefully 

confess  that,  more  than  any  human  production  I  have  recently  read,  "  The  Ten- 
ant Haute,"  has  taught  "me  to  feel  another's  woe."— Rev.  A.  D.  Gillette,  D.  D. 

1  have  read  the  "  Tenant  House"  with  satisfaction,  and  have  risen  from  its 

perusal  with  warmer  sympathies.— Rev.  S.  D.  Burchard,  D.  D. If  the  book 

were  less  attractive  as  a  literary  production,  I  should  still  feel  that  its  author  had 
entitled  himself  to  the  thanks  of  the  benevolent  for  his  generous  effort  in  the  cause 

of  humanity.— flee.  Francis  L.  Hawkes,  D.  D. 1  have  read  with  interest  the 

volume  entitled  the  "  Tenant  House."— Rev.  Thomas  De  Witt,  D.  D. It  treats 

with  great  power  and  pathos  the  tragic  facts  of  our  modern  city  life.— Rev.  Sam- 
uel Osgood,  D.  D. 1  read  it  (in  my  way)  at  one  sitting.  I  admired  the  style, 

and  sympathized  with  the  object  of  the  book.— flew.  W.  S.  Hutton,  D.  D. 

Drawn  in  such  lights  and  shades  as  to  move  the  heart  and  hand  of  Christian 
sympathy.— Rev.  Edwin  T.  Hatfield,  D.  D. Very  attractive  and  much  com- 
mended for  its  artistic  force  and  beauty.— Rev.  Ralph  Hoyt,  D.  D. 1  regard 

the  "  Tenant  House"  as  an  extraordinary  book— a  good  book— one  that  was 
much  needed.— R.  M.  Hartley,  Fiq,,  Sec'y  ff.  Y.  A$tociation  for  Improving  the 
Condition  of  the  Povr. 


3U0HT  A 

HISTORY  of  GOVERNMENTS; 

SHOWING  THE  PEOGEESS  OP  CIVIL  SOCIETY,  AND  THE 
STBUCTUEE  OP  ANCIENT  AND  MODEEN  STATES. 


By  A.  J.  H.  DTJGANNE. 


PUBLISHED  BY  R.  M.  DEWITT,    13  FRANKFORT  ST. 


FROM  DISTRICT- ATTORNEY  A.  OAKEY  HALL. 

"Its  statements  of  familiar  propositions,  and  its  illustrations  of  political  history 
make  this  professedly  'pupil'  book,  a  means  of  interest  to  the  professional 
teacher.  It  should  belong  to  the  common  school  department  of  every  state,  and 
be  introduced  by  legislative  sanction.  A  subject  usually  forbidding  has  become 
in  these  pages  interesting  from  simplicity  of  statement,  yet  accuracy  in  retention 
of  all  the  important  and  philosophical  principles  of  government." 

FROM  JUDGE  EDWARDa 

"  I  have  examined  this  work  with  care,  and  am  struck  with  the  plain  and  sim- 
ple manner  in  which  are  treated  the  essential  elements  of  history  as  connected 
with  Government.  I  cannot  but  think  that  it  must  be  an  excellent  school-book. 
It  will  be  more  than  that  to  me,  for  it  is  already  to  me  a  'ready  reference '  to 
the  more  important  parts  of  history." 

FROM  EEV.  A.  D.  GILLETTE,  D.  D. 

"  I  consider  the  issue  of  such  a  work  most  timely.  We  need  just  the  informa- 
tion this  book  gives.  Its  compactness  and  comprehensiveness  are  amazing." 

FROM  WM.  CURTIS  NOYES,  L.  L.  D. 

"  I  like  this  book  on  governments  exceedingly.  It  is  full  to  overflowing  of 
what  is  most  valuable,  and  what  all  young  persons  ought  to  know.  The  author's 
power  of  compressing,  as  well  as  of  expression,  is  remarkable." 


THE    POETICAL    WORKS 

A.  J.  H.  DUGANNE, 

TINTED  PAPER.    400  PAGES.    WITH  PORTRAIT.   $600. 


FROM  A  REVIEW  IN  THE  "  CRITIC  AND  LONDON  LITERARY  JOURNAL." 
"A  volume  calculated  to  arouse  many  a  noble  resolve,  to  excite  many  a  ge- 
nial smile,  to  awaken  many  a  blissful  sympathy."  "  His  '  Mission  of  intellect,' 
is  a  poem  of  sterling  power,  and  full  of  splendid  'poetry.'"  "There  are  such 
earnestness,  vigor  and  bravery  in  this  poem,  that  it  reads  like  a  new  application 
of  old  emotions."  "In  that  delightful  ballad,  '  The  Maiden  of  the  Shield,'  with 
what  consummate  skill  the  poet  has  introduced  the  necessary,  and  impressive 
repose  which  precedes  the  shock  of  conflict, — the  beautiful  before  the  terrible  !  " 
"  In  his  '  Iron  Harp,'  we  find  more  variety,  more  tender  and  beautiful  thoughts. 
Through  the  stormy  chords  of  this  '  Iron  Harp '  rings  ever  and  anon  the  melodious 
tone  of  a  golden  lyre."  "  The  satire  entitled  '  Parnassus  in  Pillory, '  is  remarka- 
ble for  biting  sarcasm,  for  unlicensed  banter,  for  solemn  mockery,  for  crushing 
antagonism ;  now  tickling  an  author  to  death  with  a  feather,  and  now  braining 
him  with  a  ponderous  battle-axe.  Its  mischief  is  so  delicious,  that  one  hardly 
•wishes  the  mischief  unperpetrated."  "Mr.  Duganne's  intellect  searches  the 
depths  of  suffering,  or  explores  the  mazes  of  injustice,  not  from  the  bare  surgical 
relish  of  amputating  some  diseased  limb  of  the  commonwealth,  but  lovingly,  yet 
bravely,  to  soften  the  sufferings  of  his  human  brethren.  May  he  faint  not  in  his 
generous  task,  nor  weary  in  his  metrical  pilgrimage." 

FROM  A  REVIEW  BY  O.  J.  VICTOR,  ESQ. 

Mr.  Duganne  is  one  of  the  Master  Spirits  of  Minstrelsy,  whose  song  has  stirred 
the  great  heart  of  man  into  a  grand  enthusiasm  for  the  Right,  the  Free  and  the 
Good.  His  lyrics  long  have  floated  over  the  great  sea  of  the  press — like  the 
argonaut  Nautili,  bearing  beauty  and  hope  and  a  thought  of  Heaven  on  their 
wings.  His  more  elaborate  poems  stand  as  monuments  of  a  mind  pervaded  by 
the  true  sublimity  of  the  noblest  masters  of  song.  There  is,  in  these  elaborate 
compositions,  a  wealth  of  imagery,  a  boldness  of  conception,  a  presence  of  high 
thought,  that  mark  Mr.  Duganne  for  one  of  the  most  thoughtful  and  introspective 
poets  of  this  country.  It  is  with  a  grateful  sense  that  we  turn  from  them  and 
their  mighty  thought  to  the  love  ballads  and  lyrical  utterances,  which  give  the 
volume  variety  and  season  it  with  sweets  from  which  all  can  sip. 

FROM  A  REVIEW  IN  THE  "  NATIONAL  INTELLIGENCER." 

The  volume  before  us  is  issued  in  the  highest  style  of  typographical  art,  form- 
ing, in  every  sense  of  the  term,  an  edition  de  luxe.  As  to  the  merits  of  the  poems 
themselves,  a  more  competent  critic  than  we  of  the  newspaper  can  presume  to 
think  ourselves  has  said,  in  that  gravest  of  American  quarterlies,  the  North,  Amer- 
ican Review,  that  they  are  gems  worthy  of  the  casket  in  which  they  are  so  luxu- 
riously enshrined. 

FROM  A  REVIEW  BY  W.  H.  BURLEIGH,  ESQ, 

In  his  ready  sympathy  with  the  popular  heart,  and  his  ability  to  give  voice  to 
its  thoughts  and  inspirations,  Duganne  finds  the  principal  element  of  his  power, 
and  through  them  he  must  command  a  wide  popularity.  He  is  recognised  as  the 
"Poet  of  the  People." 

LIMITED  TO  75  COPIES. 

WITH    ILLUSTRATED    TITLE    PAGE. 

VolJotra©   Gemtaining?   tro   Awtogeaph 

NOW  READY. 


THE    TENANT    HOUSE. 

NOTICES  OF  THE  PEES8. 


^ie  following  are  quoted  from  editorial  notices  of  the  book,  in  journals  through- 
out every  part  of  the  United  States  and  the  Canadas: 

In  descriptive  power  and  touching  pathos,  the  "  Tenant  House  "  is  not  exceed- 
ed by  anything  ever  written  by  Dickens, — New  Haven  Daily  Register. A 

highly  interesting  work. — Providence  (R.  /.)  Advertiser. Of  startling  and 

strange  interest. — Boston  Herald. All  true  to  nature,  and  forcibly  drawn. — 

Hartford  (Ct.)   Courant. Well  sustained. — Salem  (Mass.)  Gazette. Pure 

in  style. — Boston  Atlas  and  Bee. Only  good  in  its  tendencies. — Springfield 

(Mass.)  Republican. To  be  read  with  pleasure  and  profit. — Manchester  (N.  H.) 

Democrat. Of  thrilling  interest. — Augusta  (Me.)  Age. A  good  work  for 

humanity. —  Worcester  (Mass.)  Palladium. All  will  be  sure  to  read  it  through. 

— Lowell  Vox  Populi. Highly  recommended. — Halifax  (N.  S.)  Morning  Sun. 

An  observing  eye  and  earnest  spirit. — Boston  Journal. Freshly  written. — 

Portland  (Me.)  Transcript. An  absorbing  work.  Wilmington  (Del.)  Gazette. 

Food  for  thought.— Pittsburgh  Daily  Dispatch. We  can  testify  to  its  great 

power. — Charleston  Southern  Baptist. Portrayed  with  a  master's  skill. — Guide 

to  Holiness. Filled  with  touching  scenes. — Southern    Presbyter ian. Its 

moral  tone  is  excellent.— Alton  (III.)  Daily  Chronicle. A  highly  interesting 

volume.— Ann  Arbor  (Mich.)  Journal. A  graphic  work.— St.  John  (N.  B.)  Co- 
lonial Presbyterian. Useful  and  instructive.— N.  Y.  Churchman. Intensely 

interesting. — Canton  (N.  Y.)  Plain  Dealer. A  spirited  and  earnest  writer. — 

Norristown  (Pa.)  National  Defender. Of  most  touching  interest. — Pittsburgh, 

(Pa.)  Banner  and  Advocate. A  work^which  go.es  right  to  the  people. — Newark 

(N.  J.)  Daily  Advertiser. Of  a  superb  and  sympathetic  style. — Louisiana 

Courier. — It  has  won  high  encomiums. — Iowa  City  Reporter. In  an  easy,  fa- 
miliar style. — Laporte  (Ind.)  Union. A  masterly  production. — Moline  (III.) 

Independent. One  extract  is  sufficient  to  recommend  it. — Greenville  (Ala.) 

Southern  Messenger. We  confess  to  an  agreeable  disappointment. — Washing- 
ton (D.  C.)  National  Era. Has  superior  merit  as  a  work  of  art. — Jacksonville 

(Ala.)  Journal. The  strangest  experiences  in  a  charmed  light. — Fonddu  Lac 

(  Wis.)  Dem.  Press. Once  begun,  it  will  be  read  through,— Zion's  Herald. 

Picturesque  and  fervid. — N.  Y.  Express. The  language  of  a  warm  heart  and 

a  poetic  brain. — N.  Y.  Dispalch. By  a  true  romancist  as  well  as  a  true  poet — 

N.  Y.  Leader. Of  an  intense  and  thrilling  interest. — Home  Journal. Let 

us  say  it  is  in  Duganne's  best  style,  and  we  have  said  enough. — N.  Y.  Sunday 
Times. For  depth  of  interest,  it  ranks  with  the  "Diary  of  a  London  Physi- 
cian."— Portland  Christian  Mirror. Calculated  to  do  good. — American  Pres- 
byterian.  A  picture  of  social  life  in  these  habitations.— Philadelphia  Ledger. 

We  heartily  recommend  the  book. — Baltimore  Christian  Advocate. An 

instructive  and  sanctifying  book.— PA#.  Evening  Journal. In  power  to  fix 

the  attention  we  know  not  its  equal. — Zion's  Advocate. Artistical,  impressive 

and  interesting.— Phil.  Press. A  work  that  should  be  read  by  all,— Lawrence 

(Mass.)  American. Deeply  thrilling  pictures. — N.  Y.  Daily  News. It  can- 
not be  read  without  profit.— Detroit  Daily  Advertiser. Fascinating  in  its  in- 
terest as  the  fabled  serpent's  eye. — Burlington  (Vt.)  Times. Appeals  to  ev- 
ery Christian  and  philanthropist. — Toledo  Blade. A  remarkable  book. — Phil. 

Gazette. Truth,  vivid  actuality.— Detroit  Free  Press. Full  of  stirring  in- 
terest.— Old  Colony  (Mass.)  Memorial. A  book  of  intense  interest.— Leslie's 

Illustrated  Newspaper. In  a  masterly  style. — Richmond  Enquirer. De- 
serves a  welcome. — Oswego  Times. The  author  has  laid  the  community  un- 
der obligations.— N.  Y.  Tribune. By  a  master  hand.— Avoostook  Pioneer. 

— ^A  masterly  pen. — N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. — For  its  beauty  of  senti- 
ment, and  chastity  of  language,  pure  as  the  sunbeams.— Richmond  Christian  Ad- 
vocate.  No  ordinary  book. — Colony  Canada  Star. Enchains  the  reader's 

attention.— Life  Illustrated. 


,MG       IIJTU 

Fine  Printing  in  every  Style. 


'2L  'N 


UTTERANCES. 

ANTE  LUCEM. 

This  collection  of  poems,  on  the  vital  issues  of  our  present  war,  is  printed  in 
elegant  style,  octavo  pages,  gilt  edged,  and  bound  in  rich  cloth.    PRICE,  $2,00. 
FROM  THE  NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 

They  are  suggested  by  the  great  struggle  with  which  the  country  is  now  con- 
vulsed and  in  which  the  writer  himself  has  borne  an  active  and  honorable  part. 
Ringing  with  the  trumpet  notes  of  liberty,  they  will  touch  a  chord  in  every  loyal 
heart.  The  volume  will  be  equally  welcome  to  the  militant  friends  of  freedom, 
and  to  the  lovers  of  robust  poetry. 

FROM  THE  N.  Y.  INDEPENDENT. 

The  poems  here  collected  are  outgrowths  of  the  war — all  having  a  true  ring 
for  freedom— all  earnest,  fiery  and  graphic.  This  author's  style  is  crisp,  twang- 
ing, and  martial.  His  verses  fall  upon  the  ear  like  sounds  from  a  brass  band. 
Meaning  what  he  says,  he  says  it  with  emphasis.  Nor  is  there  wanting  here  and 
there  a  strain  of  tenderness  and  sympathy,  thrown  in  with  true  artistic  skill,  to 
heighten  the  effect  of  his  trumpet-notes. 

HROM  THE  N./Y.  WEEKLY. 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  for  us  to  say  anything  in  favor  of  Mr.  Duganne  as  a 
poet,  inasmuch  as  our  readers  are  already  perfectly  familiar  with  his  style— as 
exhibited  in  the  "Ballads  of  the  Bible,"  and  other  poems  from  his  pen,  which 
have  long  since  shrined  him  in  their  heart  of  hearts.  Still,  we  cannot  help  drop- 
ping a  word  in  commendation  of  these  "  Utterances."  Utterances  they  are, 
which,  while  they  add  a  new  lustre  to  the  brilliant  wreath  which  decks  the  poet's 
brow,  do  honor,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  head  and  heart  of  the  uncompromising 
patriot,  the  ardent  lover  of  liberty,  and  the  cordial  hater  of  wrong  and  oppression. 
Utterances  which  stir  the  heart  like  a  bugle  blast,  and  which  lead  the  sons  of 
freedom  to  register  anew  their  vows,  that  the  black  banner  of  secession  shall  be 
humbled  in  the  dust,  and  that  the  bright  standard  of  the  free  shall  wave  over  a 
united  and  disenthralled  country. 

BATTLE 

BY  A.  J.  H.  DUGANNE. 

A  series  of  poems  in  the  ballad  style,  rehearsing  principal  events  of  the  war  for 
our  Union. 

Splendidly  Illustrated  With  Engravings. 

This  volume  will  contain  ballads  upon  the  following  subjects : 

The  Fall  of  Fort  Sumter, 

The  Uprising  of  a  Nation, 

The  March  to  the  Capitol, 

The  Battle  of  Bethel, 

The  Death  of  Ellsworth, 

The  Battle  of  Bull  Run, 

The  Muster  of  Pennsylvania, 

Maryland  Redeemed, 

The  Old  Fight, 

The  "  Battle  Ballads  "  will  be  issued  in  the  fall  of  1865.  The  volume  contain- 
ing them  will  constitute  an  elegant  Gift  Book  for  the  Holidays ;  an  appropriate 
patriotic  token  to  pass  from  friend  to  friend.  Orders  must  be  sent  in  before  No- 
vember. Specimen  numbers,  with  headings  for  Subscriptions,  and  full  particu- 
lars, can  be  obtained  by  agents  who  desire  to  canvass  for  the  work. 


The  Second  Warning, 
Farragut, 

Sheridan's  Harvesting, 
The  March  of  Sherman, 
The  Sun-burst, 
The  Old  Flag  of  Sumter, 
The  Death  of  Slavery, 
&c.,  &c.,  &c. 


YE   37874 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


